


Paradise Misplaced

by sanjunipero



Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe, Demons, M/M, Multi, Supernatural Elements, and also warlocks and angels and heavy religious themes, i'm a religious studies major leave me alone, i'm basically in the bible fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8457166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanjunipero/pseuds/sanjunipero
Summary: Some say God is where we put our sorrow.   God says, Which one of you fuckers can get to me first?
Or: Gabe’s a sarcastic and long-suffering demonic power broker who works for the devil. William’s a socially inept college student who happens to be the main ingredient required for setting the end of the world in motion. With every demon in Hell out for his blood, Gabe gets stuck with the job of saving the kid - but meeting William turns out to be a much bigger problem than the Apocalypse.





	1. A Demon Walks Into a Bar...

**Author's Note:**

> One time I watched an episode of Charmed and I thought to myself, "what if I wrote an AU where Gabe Saporta is a demonic power broker?" It's been three years since then, and now I have the beautiful mess you see before you. 
> 
> Yeah, just to repeat myself, it has taken me three years to write this. Believe me, no one hates that more than I do. Just pretend it's 2013 with me.
> 
> Endless thanks to my beta readers/editors/personal messiahs, Chloe and Anneliese, without whom it would have taken me another three goddamn years to write this stupid fic.
> 
> Thanks for reading. I sincerely hope you enjoy.

 

  
_February 11, 1994._  
 _Somewhere, Kurt Cobain thinks about suicide._  
 _Somewhere, on the side of the highway, a man too high to drive traces his fingers over the last photograph of a normal life, the fabric of his jacket held up to his nose to stop the blood._  
 _In St. Louis, a man is plagued by a bad feeling. In Los Angeles, a man lights a joint._  
 _In Evanston, Illinois, a boy is born weighing six pounds and eleven ounces, and the fabric of the universe bends itself ever so slightly around him._

_ Paradise Misplaced _

_ you're my special guy. you're my angel. you fell from heaven and landed in a pontiac...  
-richard siken _

 

I. A DEMON WALKS INTO A BAR...

The tiny New Jersey dive was packed for a Wednesday night, dimly lit, noisy, and full of the energy of human bodies in close company, just the way Gabe liked it. He’d learned from years of experience that bars were the best place to conduct his wholly unusual business. Anonymous enough, but lots of witnesses in case something went wrong. And the more people, the less chance of ending up with a couple of broken ribs.

Besides, alcohol was the only way to handle this job—well, one of many ways, but one thing was certain. You sure as hell couldn't do it sober.

He took a sip of his drink as he scanned the room for his client. He wasn't hard to differentiate from everyone else in the bar, but then again his clients never were. The host he was using was in his late 30s, a Wall Street type - tanned, attractive, wearing an expensive suit and walking with an awkward, stiff gait. Someone less knowledgeable might not have been able to place it, but Gabe knew was because he wasn't quite used to being human yet. His expression suggested he was already vaguely pissed off, too, more than usual, so Gabe took another swallow of his drink while his client leaned on the bar next to him as casually as he could.

"You're interrupting my search for the perfect margarita," Gabe said flatly, staring straight ahead. Casual voices, avoiding eye contact – he felt like a drug dealer sometimes.

"I'm guessing you're the man I'm looking for," said his client.

"You wearing Westwood?" Gabe asked. "Someone's eager."

"Watch yourself, broker," the other said, his tone now icy. "Just preparation."

"You assume a lot."

"If you've got what you swore to me you've got, it's not an assumption at all."

"You assume I'm going to give it to you at all."

"We agreed, five thousand—"

"I know what we agreed." Gabe swirled his drink. "I'm still deciding."

A breath hissed through the man’s teeth. "All you power brokers, you're all the same, aren’t you? Acting like you got the keys to the goddamn universe.”

"Treating your broker like shit isn't going to lower your chances of getting fucked over," Gabe reminded him. "And by the way, thinking your wealth is exclusive won't help your business life in general."

"You think you're fucking special? I can get this—"

"And don't try the 'I got ten more like you' thing on me. You and I both know damn well you can't find anything like this downstairs. And I could give this to anyone I wanted, in exchange for things that are probably a lot more interesting.” He set his drink down and looked his client in the eyes for the first time. “So you can keep it up and I'll find someone else who has use for a shapeshifting power, which I'm sure won't be hard, or we can get this thing done and you can be one of the most powerful demons on earth. Your choice."

The demon was quiet. "Five thousand?" he said finally.

"Six and you're golden."

The demon scowled. "Even in the underworld, you're pond scum."

The side of Gabe's mouth twitched. "You saying there's a special place in Hell for me?" He picked up his drink to finish it off, setting down the empty glass before getting up, stretching, and turning to his client with a small smile. "Because I've known that for a long time."

 

*

The bathroom door swung closed, and Gabe let out a breath of relief. As good as he was getting at acting tough and callous and devil-may-care these days, doing power transfers still scared the hell out of him, no pun intended. He turned the faucet on and splashed a little water on his face, to moderate success: this shitty bar bathroom wasn't a Neutrogena commercial, after all, but it did sort of sober him up. He took a steadying breath and stared down into the dirty off-white of the sink for a minute.

When he looked up into the mirror, Pete Wentz was staring back at him.

Gabe jumped back about a foot, smacking his elbow into a paper towel dispenser and cursing loudly. "Jesus," he said, rubbing his elbow, "every fucking time."

The image of Pete in the mirror grinned. "Evenin', stud."

Gabe rolled his eyes. No matter how much he was used to demons communicating by mirror, he doubted he was ever going to like it. "You know how much I hate this shit, Wentz." He ran a hand through his curls and blinked hard a couple times. "Why can't we just use cell phones like normal fucking people?"

"You know how much safer leylines are. And besides, this one seriously needs to be kept on the DL."

"Everything I do needs to be kept on the DL," Gabe muttered. Pete ignored him.

"Not to mention," Gabe pressed, "I was with a client. Not thirty seconds ago. You're getting reckless."

"I'm careful, I'm careful. I knew he was gone. And this definitely can't wait."

"Alright, shoot. But make it quick."

"Okay, so you know how Hell has been trying and failing for ages to get their hands on some sacrificial fodder for this whole bringing-back-Hell-on-Earth thing they've been fixated on?"

"Yeah."

"Well, they think they’ve finally found something potent enough."

Gabe tore off a paper towel. “Sure they have. What is it this time?"

"His name's William Beckett, he's an art history major at Columbia Chicago, and he's turning 21 tomorrow. And any demon who knows what's what is out for his blood."

Gabe rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Christ. Are you sure this is legit? I mean, there've been rumors in the past, right? Tons of them. And it's always a false alarm, the blood's never powerful enough."

"That's what I thought too, at first. But it's the real fuckin' deal. The Source is sending her best and brightest."

"But why him? What's so special about him that every demon in Hell is tripping over themselves to get to him?"

"That's what I've been trying to figure out. It's driving me crazy. The best thing I could come up with is that, I don’t know, he was born under a blue harvest moon or something? And I'm guessing he's got virgin blood, too, but that still doesn't strike me as powerful enough to kickstart the Apocalypse."

"You're right. That's bizarre."

"But anyway. That doesn't really matter. Whatever he has, Hell wants it bad, and it's your job to make sure they don't get it."

Gabe stared. "Back up. You're telling me it's suddenly on me to go get this kid?"

"Before a bunch of demons do, yes. Get him and bring him to me. Preferably as fast as possible."

"I have a job too, you know."

"Yes, one that comes with infinitely fewer risks than mine. It’s dangerous enough for me to even be talking to you right now, let alone bringing you two here after you get him. If I put one more toe out of line than absolutely necessary I'm finished. Along with everything else. Everything we've worked for." Pete paused for a minute. Gabe, knowing he still looked doubtful and more than a little belligerent, glanced away from Pete's gaze.

"Gabe, this is the first real threat we've had to deal with. Hell can't win this one. If they do, we're in serious danger of losing the war. And the Earth."

"Alright, fine, fine, don't get all serious on me. I'll do it."

"Knew I could count on you, Saporta. Best place to head for is probably Columbia Chicago. Try not to look too suspicious."

"As if. What's the name again?"

"William Beckett."

"William Beckett," Gabe repeated, rolling the name around in his mouth. "Okay. I guess I'll get going."

"Alright. Good luck, princess."

"Go choke on a dick."

"Love you too. Wentz out."

Gabe pulled his coat on and made his way to the back door of the bar, vague thoughts of William Beckett and the Apocalypse and whether or not he could handle the drive from Jersey to Chicago in one go on his mind. As he stepped out into the alley, he happened to glance down. The demon he had transferred the shapeshifting power to not fifteen minutes ago was lying dead, slumped against the brick next to the Dumpster, a wound clearly made with a blessed blade visible on his chest. The skin around his eyes was burned with what Gabe could only assume to be holy water.

Apparently another broker had been there tonight.

Gabe shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking. It wasn't his problem. The guy had been an asshole anyway.


	2. The Bible Said Adam and Eve, Not Take William and Leave

 

_everyone’s chest_  
_is a living room wall_  
_with awkwardly placed photographs_  
_hiding fist-shaped holes_  
_-andrea gibson_

 

II. THE BIBLE SAID ADAM AND EVE, NOT TAKE WILLIAM AND LEAVE

Ten miles down the interstate, the Top 40 station blaring and the clock in his Pontiac reading 1:13, Gabe realized for the first time that he had no earthly idea what he was going to say to this kid when he found him.

This kind of thing came easy to him by now, easy as breathing. After he left the bar it was the usual routine: swinging by the apartment he rented on a monthly basis, grabbing a couple shirts and chugging about a gallon of black coffee before he hit the road. His knife, a gorgeous and efficient thing that had been blessed, for lack of a better expression, to Hell and back, was already on him—he always brought it on deals, just in case. A chunk of the six grand the demon had reluctantly given him was resting comfortably in his wallet, while the rest was waiting in the glovebox next to a half-full bottle of the Adderall he bought regularly from some nervous Princeton kid, reserving it for nights exactly like this. The drive from Jersey to Chicago was twelve hours if he was lucky, and he knew it like the back of his hand.  
And from the way things looked right now, he was going to spend that entire twelve hours trying to figure out exactly what he could say to one William Beckett that would get him to trust an ornery and mysterious Latino guy who showed up at his doorstep and claimed to be a denizen of the underworld.

 _Hey, so, funny story..._ Nope.

 _Ever watch Supernatural?_ Nah.

 _Come with me if you want to live!_ Definitely not.

He knew he would have to come up with something, because innocents – the term used for happily clueless mortals like the Beckett kid – never exactly wanted to come quietly. It was understandable, of course, but Gabe sometimes forgot that not everyone was as jaded by this kind of crap as he was.

_Hey, man, sorry to interrupt the birthday festivities and all, but it turns out your blood is kind of magical! How 'bout that? So, you know, if you could just come with me to avoid being sacrificed by demons in an ancient ritual to bring Hell back on Earth, that would be great._

_A demonic power broker? I sure am! Don't sweat it._

As he switched lanes, Gabe decided that for now, he was just going to concentrate on getting there, and he'd worry about the particulars later.

 

 

*

The apartment building was on the corner of 16th and State. The good news was that William Beckett did not live in one of the usual buildings inhabited by Columbia students, where there were likely to be so many complications that a horde of bloodthirsty demons was the least of Gabe's worries, but rather in a cramped and overpriced loft in Dearborn Park.

The bad news was that the drive had taken sixteen godawful hours, and Gabe was running low on Adderall as well as hope. By the time he’d parked the Pontiac, convinced some kid to let him in by pretending he’d left his keys at home, and finally found himself in front of the plain light wood that stood between him and apartment 12C, his stomach was knotted with dread.

On impulse, he tried the door, and the air fell out of his lungs when he realized it was unlocked.

Unlocked was bad. Unlocked was very, very bad. Unlocked was not as bad as hanging off the hinges, but it was still very deeply into the realm of Not Good. With his hand on his knife and his body tensed, Gabe slowly swung open the door, ready to face all Hell’s demons.

Instead, he found two scrawny and surprised-looking college-age boys sitting in the middle of the floor with a Settlers of Catan board and a six-pack of Smirnoff Ices between them.

Gabe could tell immediately which one was William Beckett. One of the boys was a dirty blonde with striking eyes and a little bit of scruff, and he was pretty enough, sure, but not pretty enough to be a William Beckett. The other one, though—the other one, Jesus _Christ._ He was pale and slender and delicately boned, and probably, Gabe ventured, almost as tall as he was when he stood up. He wore jeans and a faded v-neck—Gabe didn't know they _made_ them that tight—and his long hair fell in light brown waves that framed his face, exceptionally strong-featured except for his wide, soft brown eyes. It was the eyes that got Gabe. The Beckett kid was still staring at him in surprise and Gabe had to swallow and look away before he punched something.

"Innocent" was just a word. Innocents weren't actually supposed to look like a goddamn deer in headlights.

"Told you we left the door unlocked," said the blonde one.

"You looking for someone?" William asked, and even his voice was nice, bright and clear as a bell.

"Uh—" Lying was his natural instinct, and normally he'd be able to lie his way out of almost anything, but this stupid Beckett kid and his stupid pretty innocent face were throwing him off.

 _Say something, damn it._ Gabe managed an awkward and embarrassed half-smile. "Sorry, I just moved in across the hall and I definitely thought this was my place. Still learning my way around."

"Across the hall?" The beautiful William Beckett frowned slightly and very beautifully. "It's always been Carden and Butcher across the hall."

"Still is," Gabe said. “I’m Carden’s cousin. Crashing here until I can find a place of my own. Just got back from some volunteer work with the Peace Corps in Colombia.”

“You’re Carden’s cousin,” William repeated.

“Yep.”

William was quiet for a moment. Then he shook his head. "Weird," he muttered to himself. "He never said anything to me about that."

He looked back up at Gabe, who was still standing in the doorway. "Well, it’s always nice to meet new neighbors, I guess."

Gabe, who had been silently willing one of them to invite him in, decided it was never going to happen if he didn't push it. "Mind if I join you guys? I don't really know anyone around here yet."

"Yeah, sure, sure. Any friend of Carden’s is a friend of mine. Or cousin, whatever. It's my birthday, y’know."

"No shit," Gabe said as he sat cross-legged next to the blonde boy, who could either be Beckett's roommate or boyfriend; Gabe hadn't seen enough to decide. "How old?"

"Twenty-one," the blonde kid answered, and Gabe turned to face him. "We went out to buy shit for the occasion, but this is all he wanted."

Gabe laughed. William went slightly pink and muttered, " _Sisky._ "

"So, where you from?" Sisky asked Gabe, ignoring William and reaching for another Smirnoff.

"New Jersey," said Gabe. "I’m moving to Chicago for the art scene."

"Oh, yeah, Will works at the museum," said Sisky, whom Gabe had decided was William's roommate. "That's his major, y'know, art history. And his one true love.”

William laughed. “Since when have you called me Will?”

Sisky cleared his throat. “Uh, I–”

"Hey, William?" said Gabe, slowly reaching down to rest his hand on his knife.

William looked at him. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Your roommate’s possessed.”

"What?" said William and Sisky at the same time.

"Christo," said Gabe calmly, and Sisky flinched and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, they were pure black.

William's exclamation of "What the fuck—" was lost to Gabe, who, just after pulling his knife out, remembered that William probably liked Sisky and did not want to see the meat carved from his bones with a six-inch holy blade. The moment of hesitation allowed Sisky—or, rather, the demon inhabiting Sisky's body—to go straight for Gabe's throat. Gabe ducked sideways and managed to get around the demon's back to put him in a chokehold. He sped through the familiar Latin as quickly as he could, tightening his grip as the demon fought for all he was worth.

Finally, thankfully, after Gabe had sustained what he thought were going to be several bad bruises, black smoke began to pour out of Sisky's mouth and disappear into the floor.

Just as quickly as it had happened, it was over, and Sisky's body went limp in Gabe's arms.

William was ten shades paler than he’d been before.

"What the fuck was that?" he breathed, staring at the unconscious body of his roommate.

Gabe let out a long sigh of relief. "Happy birthday, William."

 

 

*

"So you're really a demon."

"Really and truly," Gabe replied, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"And you're a...what is it you do again?"

"Demonic power broker," Gabe said, enunciating each syllable. "Of a very specific variety. I'm responsible for collecting and trading demonic powers here on Earth."

William poked his head out of his bedroom. "And you're sure you're not going to kill me."

"Kid, it's my job to make sure you stay alive."

"Just checking." William came out of his room, shoving two neatly folded t-shirts into a backpack, and made his way into the kitchen.

"You know, you're taking this remarkably well," Gabe called, inspecting a book laying on the coffee table. It was an art history textbook, open to the rococo movement.

"Well, I figure if this all a dream then I have nothing to worry about, and if it isn't freaking out will just slow us down. Are you sure Sisky's gonna be okay?" William had reappeared in the living room, clutching his phone charger and looking worriedly at Gabe.

"Yeah, yeah, he'll be fine," Gabe assured him, flipping a page in the textbook. "But he'll be out for a little while. Being possessed by a demon isn't a walk in the park, and it gets worse the longer the occupation is, and who knows how long that one was in him. At least since you guys bought those Ices. But hey, on the bright side, when he wakes up he probably won't remember a thing.” He looked up at William. “Sorry to interrupt the birthday festivities, by the way, although I guess there wasn't too much going on."

William sat down on the couch next to him. "I mean, we had alcohol. That's what you do at 21st birthday parties, right?"

Gabe’s gaze traveled to the six-pack of Ices, from which only three were gone, and William blushed.

"Aw, come on, that counts. That totally counts."

"All I have to say is if this is your idea of getting fucked up, I seriously envy you."

"I wanted to start slow," William said defensively.

"Wait. Back up. Have you...never had alcohol before?”

"I mean, I just turned 21. Of course I haven’t."

"Oh my God, you’re so precious. I think I had my first drink when I was _twelve._ " Gabe shook his head; this kid was a piece of work. "Are you buzzed? Am I gonna have to deal with that? How many of those did you have, two or just one?"

William muttered something, and Gabe said "What?"

"Half of one," William said, a little louder. "Sisky finished it for me."

Gabe made an honest effort not to laugh, he really did, but it was to no avail, and William went red again.

"Sorry," said Gabe, still laughing a little. "I got no right to judge you. But at any rate, you might want one of those for the road. What I'm about to tell you won't exactly be easy to swallow."

William looked dubiously at the three bottles still sitting in their cardboard packaging, and, after a moment, reached over and took one.

"All right," said Gabe bracingly, standing and putting on his hoodie, the purple one he'd been wearing since before he could remember. "No time to lose. Let's roll."

"Wait just a second," William said, set down his Ice, and went back over to the kitchen. He came back with a pen and sat down again, ripping a piece of paper out of the bedraggled notebook beside the art history text to scribble something on it.

"What're you doing?"

"Writing a note to Sisky," William replied. "I don't want him to freak out when he wakes up and doesn't remember anything that's happened to him all day."

Gabe couldn’t really fathom how William could possibly write anything that wouldn’t freak Sisky out even more, but whatever made him feel better.

“Plus I need to make sure he takes care of Scully,” William added.

“Scully?”

“My cat. She’s really shy. She’s probably hiding right now. Hold on, let me go say goodbye to her.”

William ducked back into his bedroom, and Gabe sighed, rubbed his temples, and looked up at the ceiling. “He has a cat named Scully,” he muttered.

He watched as William came back into the room and carefully slid the note under Sisky's door. He stood there for a moment, looking around at his apartment a little wistfully. Then he shook himself and grabbed his backpack, his keys, and the Ice. Going over to the door, he pulled down the leather jacket hanging on one of the coat hooks – Gabe was surprised; he'd been expecting the faded windbreaker hanging next to it – slid it on, and turned to face Gabe.

"Okay," he said. " _Now_ let's go."

They stepped into the hall. Gabe got halfway down it before realizing William had stayed behind to lock the door. He bit his tongue against mentioning the fact that locks wouldn't be much help against the army of the underworld; this poor kid definitely didn't need to hear that at the moment. William slipped his blue and bronze lanyard back around his neck and hurried to catch up with Gabe, who had already started walking again.

William gave him a weak smile. "So if all that was a lie, does that mean you aren’t Carden’s cousin?"

Gabe, who had been thinking about how suspicious versus how effective a shielding spell would be if he attempted one, started. "To the best of my knowledge, Carden does not have a Latino demon for a cousin, no."

The elevator was waiting for them when they pressed the button, and was also miraculously free of people. Gabe stepped in, William following behind him. As soon as the doors slid closed, he turned to William and said, "All right, here's the deal. The human race may not know it right now, but the Apocalypse is at our front door, and whether it happens or not hangs solely on whether or not you stay alive."

After a look at William’s face, Gabe took the Ice from him and popped the cap off with his keys. He handed it back to William, whose eyes were slightly vacant, and William took as big a swallow as he could.

"Why me?" he managed after he’d finished.

"Let me backtrack," Gabe said, hoping he got to the point before the kid passed out, which he _really_ didn't need. William nodded, still not looking at him.

"So for a few years now, there's been something building up in Hell. The demons are getting restless—deciding that being banished to the Underworld is against the natural order, that humanity shouldn't exist, that they want the world back to the way it was before Hell became a separate plane of existence—when it was, quite literally, Hell on Earth.” He pulled out his phone and checked the time; it was already past sunset, which meant that each second was more dangerous than the last. “Of course, demons have been talking about this kind of thing for centuries, but it's only within the last couple years that it's really started to be a problem again. The Source—that's the Source of All Evil, basically the devil—she's been getting much stronger recently, stronger than the Source has been for a long time."

William snapped out of his reverie, looking confused. "Wait. She?"

"The Source's current form, at least the form she's been in since about the eleventh century, is a woman, yes. The Source was a man at the time of the Old Testament, and people were just stupid enough to assume ultimate evil is a constant. She's got a name, technically, but demons call her the Source out of respect. And also because she'll have hellhounds rip us to pieces if we don't."

"Charming."

"She is Satan. Anyway, the problem is she's been trying to get Hell back on Earth for a long time, but now we think she's found a way to actually do it."

"How?" William asked, eyes wide. He was beginning to look unwell again, and Gabe quickened the pace of his story, failing to notice as the elevator gradually slowed to a stop on the sixth floor.

"Well, see, there's this old world ritual that would be able to finish the job—and I said to her, look, I don't care how hot he is, he's forty-three and married with two kids, are you out of your mind?"

The man who had just stepped into the elevator did not react. William took the hint, taking another long swig of his Ice and coughing before saying, "Told you that bitch Jenny never learns."

The next six floors were spent in tense silence during which Gabe absently played with his phone and William tried to stop his hands shaking around the Ice to no avail. When the elevator reached the ground floor, Gabe slid his phone back in his pocket and took a startled William as casually as he could by the arm, pulling him a safe enough distance from the few people within earshot so he could continue his story.

"The ritual," he said in a low voice as the two made their way across the lobby, "requires something extraordinarily powerful to be able to work properly. You can imagine—it's destroying the line between the realms, literally changing the universe itself. There's lots of stuff that needs to be done, and it takes years to get the circumstances right, but when it comes right down to it, the most important element of the ritual is a sacrifice." He paused, checking William's color before deciding it was safe to elaborate. "A blood sacrifice."

"And that's where I come in?" William ventured.

Gabe nodded. "That's where you come in."

"Great," William muttered, and finished off the Ice. He tossed the empty bottle into a nearby trash can, looking like he was now edging more towards resigned than terrified, and Gabe smiled wryly at him.

"Come on," he said. "I had to park a couple blocks over; we're gonna have to cut through the park."

William, like a true Chicagoan, only took the time to wait for the barest of gaps in traffic to dash across the street. Gabe followed one step behind him, catching up with him in the lone pool of lamplight shining on the quickly darkening sidewalk and not breaking his stride as they headed into the park.

"The Source believes your blood is the missing ingredient they've been searching for," he continued. "You're the sacrifice that could finally complete the ritual and set the wheels in motion. So that's why all of Hell is after you. And that's why it's my job to get you out of harm's way as fast as I can."

"You don't want this whole Hell on Earth thing?" William asked.

"I don't, no."

"I mean, you're a demon. Why not?"

Gabe smiled wryly, half to himself. "I'll explain it to you later, but it basically comes down to the fact that I kind of like Earth and Hell the way they are right now and I don't particularly want to see a genocide of all humanity. Pete feels the same way."

"Pete?"

"Good friend of mine, fearless leader of the resistance against Hell, and also a very high-ranking demon. He's been on Earth since the twenties. Lives in L.A. now. He's still very close to the Source, which is what makes his leading the resistance so brilliant. But it also makes this a very delicate situation. You'll notice that he had as little to do with this as possible, and that's because if the Source got even the slightest hint that Pete was rebelling against Hell like this, there's no doubt he'd be killed. Slowly and painfully."

"You can kill demons?"

"Oh, sure. It's not easy, though, which is why it would be slow and painful. Also because the Source is, y'know, the source of all evil. Quick and merciful isn't really her style."

"You still didn't answer my question from earlier," William said suddenly, and so quietly that Gabe almost stopped walking. "Why me?"

That _did_ make Gabe stop walking, and he turned to face William, suddenly reminded of how young he was; whatever bravado he'd tried to force before had melted away completely, and he looked incredibly vulnerable standing in the middle of the park, long hair and leather jacket lit by an orange halo of loudly buzzing lamplight.

"I don't know," Gabe said finally, because this was the best explanation he had to offer. "Nothing like this has ever happened before. We have no idea what could possibly make you the missing piece when the piece has been missing since God knows when. But whatever's in your blood, it's powerful enough to shift entire worlds. And it is very, very dangerous."

William let his gaze drop, crossing his arms against his chest.

“This is for real, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yeah, kid. This is for real.”

William nodded slowly, his eyes unfocused. Gabe swallowed against the empathy - actual fucking _empathy_ \- that suddenly tugged at his heart.

_You swore to protect life, didn’t you? That’s all you can do. In life’s name, for life’s sake. You’re doing this for humanity, not for him._

“Come on, kid,” he said. "It's a long way to St. Louis."

William ran to catch up. “St. Louis?” he said. “I thought Pete lived in L.A.”

“He does. But Patrick lives in St. Louis. And if we want to avoid another situation like the Amazing Possessed Roommate back there, we’re going to have to go see Patrick.”

“Patrick?”

“Yes, Patrick.” Gabe, who had finally arrived at the Pontiac parked in the shadows between two streetlights, unlocked the passenger door. William got in, and Gabe leaned over to speak to him. “And he’s gonna put a spell on you that’ll make you untraceable.”

*

Patrick was a short blonde guy with a cat named Pancake, an affinity for David Bowie, and a large collection of cardigans. He lived in an old row house in Soulard, where he worked part-time and played music every Sunday night at the jazz club down the street. He was very friendly, but very shy, and mostly kept to himself. He was also, to Gabe's knowledge, one of the most powerful warlocks in the continental United States.

They stopped to get gas in the suburbs of north St. Louis county in the early hours of the morning. William was still wide awake, his knees pressed to his chest, leaning against the passenger side window; he’d stopped talking a few hours ago.

No matter how much he didn’t like it, Gabe was feeling worse for this kid by the second, and after he finished filling up he pulled into a parking space.

“I’m gonna go inside and get some coffee,” he said. “You want any?”

“No thanks.”

“Could you come with me anyway?”

William looked at him, bleary-eyed.

“I don’t think it would be the best idea to leave you alone,” Gabe reminded him, as gently as he could, and William nodded and pushed the door open.

Gabe filled a cup with crappy gas station coffee and brought it to the skinny teenager working the register. “Pack of Parliaments, too, please,” he said quietly, and as he waited for the girl to get them, digging in his wallet for change, his eyes fell on the other kid behind the counter. He was a twentysomething with stained jeans and the beginnings of a beard on his face, and as Gabe met his eyes, just for a moment – it could have been the fact that he hadn’t slept since Tuesday night, and it was now Thursday morning - but just for a moment, he could have sworn they flashed black.

He blinked hard and glanced at William, who was looking somewhere else. The kid had gone back to cleaning off the counter. The girl set the pack of Parliaments down on the counter, and Gabe, distracted, handed her a ten.

“Let’s go,” he muttered to William, who looked up in surprise at his tone but said nothing. Gabe risked one more glance at the gas station employee as he grabbed his change and headed toward the door, and the kid smiled at him and said, “Have a nice day, sir.”

“Something wrong?” William asked on the walk back to the car.

Gabe shook his head. “Nothing.”

 _You’re paranoid,_ he told himself as he started the car, letting the Stones song that was playing on the classic rock station distract him. _You’re acting like a fucking drug addict again. Seeing shit everywhere. His eyes were brown, anyway._

Still, he couldn’t shake the bad feeling he was having the whole way through the drive, even as they turned onto Victor Street.

Gabe parked around the corner, squinting against the rays of the rising sun while he pulled up alongside the curb. “Come on,” he said to William. “We got a little bit of a walk.”

He got out of the car, glancing back to make sure William was following him before digging into his jacket pocket for his first cigarette of the morning–he sure as shit needed it. The smoke he exhaled mingled with the fog of his breath, hanging in the chilly air. William kept his arms crossed and stared at the ground.

“Nothing to be nervous about,” Gabe said to him as they went up the front walk.

“I wasn’t nervous,” William said. “Just thinking.”

Gabe took another drag on his cigarette, put it out against the bricks, and rang the doorbell.

The door swung inward—Gabe had to smile at that: Patrick, always ready for visitors, even at the crack of dawn—and there was Patrick, yawning, messy-haired, still in his pajamas. His face went from apprehension to relief when he saw who was at the door.

"Gabe," he said.

"Sorry we didn't call," Gabe said, "but this is kind of important."

Patrick's gaze fell on William, who gave him a weak smile, and he nodded.

"Come on in,” he said.

William followed Gabe in, and as he caught his eye Gabe could guess what he was thinking—that this tiny dude in a Bowie shirt and too-long Batman pajama pants certainly didn't look like much of a warlock. It was the same reaction almost everyone had until they saw what Patrick was capable of. Gabe tended to think of Patrick as a live wire wrapped in a thick layer of insulation—harmless usually, but hiding a lot of serious power, and dangerous if you cut too deep.

"I thought you might have been the Jehovah's Witnesses," Patrick said, closing the door behind them. "They won't leave me alone. I've tried flat-out telling them I'm a warlock, just to see if that'd do it, but apparently nothing slows them down. Do you two want some breakfast or something? I was just about to make some tea myself." Without waiting for a response, he’d vanished into the next room. William looked at Gabe again; Gabe mouthed "it's fine," and he led the way, picking his way around the piles of books and papers and half-melted candles and dried herbs in the dining room before stepping into the kitchen.

Gabe had liked Patrick’s kitchen from the moment he’d first seen it. He instantly felt a little less on edge as he gazed around at the potted plants that lined the yellow walls, the crystals sitting on the windowsills, refracting the sunrise and sprinkling golden beams around the room. A teakettle was already beginning to whistle insistently on the gas stove, and Patrick was on his toes, rummaging around in the cabinets above his head for some tea.

"Chai, William?” he asked without turning around.

William sat down on one of the chairs by the table, looking slightly bemused. "Yeah, that's my favorite. How'd you know?"

Patrick smiled, but didn't respond, and turned back around. "Gabe?"

"You know I don't do tea." Gabe took a seat at the opposite end of the table. “Although I could always use more coffee.”

"I can make some."

"I don't trust your coffee. I'll do it later."

"Suit yourself." Patrick shoved aside some Twining’s fruit tea and a huge box of Irish breakfast and pulled down the neat little package of Indian chai tea bags and two mugs from the shelf below. He set them down on the counter and then turned to retrieve the milk from the fridge, humming an Andy Williams tune, while the teakettle rose of its own accord and poured steaming water into the mugs without spilling a drop.

He handed the mug commemorating the St. Louis Zoo’s 75th anniversary in 1979 to William, along with the milk, sugar, tea bag, and a spoon, and watched as William put the tea bag in and poured in a generous amount of milk. “Long ride?” he asked with a small smile.

William nodded. "Long ride with lots to think about."

Patrick took the milk and poured it into his own tea, which had been steeping in the counter and was now absently beginning to stir itself. “I should think so,” he said, "especially with this one. You didn’t cause him too much trouble, did you, Gabe?”

"None at all, no," William said, and the way he met Gabe's eyes told him he wasn't going to mention the whole trying-to-kill-his-roommate thing.

"Well," Patrick said, and took a thoughtful drink from his own tea. "I think bringing you here was a wise idea. Even though _technically_ I'm supposed to be neutral. I don't need that kind of trouble," he explained at an inquiring look from William. "But it never hurts to help out an innocent."

"What's an innocent?"

"Oh, it's what we call humans who aren't involved in our world. I'm surprised Gabe didn't mention that. I thought he told you everything." Patrick shot an admonishing look at Gabe, which Gabe knew would be the first of many; he simply shrugged in response. "Did he at least tell you what I do?"

"He told me you're a warlock, yeah."

"That's right. I come by my power from—oh, _there_ you are, cat. It's about time."

Patrick's small ginger cat had padded into the kitchen, looking thoroughly confused; but then, Pancake the cat usually looked confused. Why one of the most powerful warlocks in the country had chosen a cat named Pancake to be his familiar, Gabe would never know, but Patrick loved her possibly more than anything or anyone else on Earth, so he didn’t ask. Pancake rubbed up affectionately against Patrick's legs, and he reached down to scratch her behind the ears. Gabe made an attempt of his own as she passed him, knowing it would be futile, because Pancake - while very old and possibly a few nails short of a toolbox - was extraordinarily gifted when it came to sensing the supernatural, and for this reason she absolutely could not stand entities that smelled like Hell.

Gabe was decidedly one of those entities, and Pancake hissed at his outstretched hand in an offended sort of way.

Then she caught sight of William, and she resolutely made her way over to him and jumped into his lap. Gabe rolled his eyes and pushed himself out of the chair he was sitting in to go start some coffee. Patrick's voice, melodic and comforting, carried over the sounds of early morning St. Louis drifting in through the open window.

"Anyway," he said to William as Gabe automatically opened the cabinet second from the right and reached up to the coffee grounds tucked away on the highest shelf, "my family happens to belong to a very powerful and very old Druid bloodline. It can remain dormant for generation after generation, but it does pop up every once in awhile."

“That’s fascinating,” William said, leaning forward in his chair. “I mean, I’m an art history student, but I’ve taken a couple of mythology courses too—I didn’t know Druids carried magic.”

Patrick smiled. “Some of them did, yes.”

“So what do you do?”

"Primarily, I'm a healer. He can attest to that." Patrick jerked his head in Gabe's direction. "I've fixed more broken ribs than I can count."

William looked over at Gabe, his expression curious.

"I haven't always been this good at my job," Gabe said shortly. "Demons are really strong and really easy to piss off."

"How long have you—" William started, but Gabe, who did not want to have this conversation when he was this poorly caffeinated, cut him off before it could go anywhere dangerous.

"So how'd you sleep, Patrick?"

Patrick, of course, knew Gabe well enough to not push it. "Oh, I haven't slept yet," he said. His expression turned parental and mildly accusatory as he looked at Gabe. "Which reminds me, when's the last time you two slept?"

"Night before last," William answered behind a yawn, and Gabe made a big show of checking on the coffee.

Patrick shook his head. "Honestly. Bed. Both of you.”

"That’s not what we came here for,” Gabe said.

Patrick paused, looking into his tea in a conflicted manner. "I'm supposed to be neutral."

“Yeah, and he’s supposed to be in class right now. And he’s definitely not supposed to be violently killed in a blood sacrifice.”

"Alright, alright, I get it. William, did he tell you what the kind of untraceability spell I do involves?"

“Not really."

Patrick sighed. "That seems to be the pattern, doesn't it? I'll explain a little more before I go doing magic on you—informed consent, Gabe, it’s important.”

He went into the dining room and came back with one of the books that had been lying on the table, a thick leatherbound one that looked a few centuries old. He set it on the kitchen table with a muffled _thunk,_ a cloud of dust rising from its yellowing pages.

“So, William,” he said as he began flipping through the pages, “it's a pretty ancient series of runes that if written correctly will make the entity upon which it is written untraceable by most magical means. That means the demons will have a much harder time finding you. I mean, sure, there's magic powerful enough to get past an untraceability spell. But as for your run-of-the-mill demon, they're up shit creek without a paddle."

Gabe smiled to himself, keeping his eye on the coffee that was now starting to drip encouragingly into the pot. "I can always count on you, Patrick."

"Well, when you've been doing it as long as I have...anyway. In the interest of full disclosure, William, I'm afraid that this particular sigil is very long and very complicated, and so to make it at all effective, I’m going to have to carve it into your ribs.”

William spluttered into his tea. He set the mug down, wiping off his face, and gasped, "I'm sorry, I—you’re going to have to–?"

"Magically, that is, with no further damage to the rest of your body. If we do it in some way that's more temporary it'll almost certainly render it useless. So unless you wanna go get a huge tattoo, it's ribs or nothing."

William was quiet, and Patrick glanced at him over his glasses.

"You don't have to do this right now," he said, losing his businesslike tone and adopting the soothing one he always used with innocents. "I know this has been a lot to take in at once. You just do it whenever you're ready."

Gabe cleared his throat from the other side of the room. "I mean, we are kind of preventing the Apocalypse here—"

"Can it, Saporta."

"No, he's right," William said, and they both looked at him.

He shooed a very reluctant Pancake off his lap and stood. "Let's get this over with."

Patrick nodded. "If you’re sure. Gabe, come hold his hand or something, will you?"

Gabe rolled his eyes but obliged, abandoning his coffee to take a few steps over to William and hold out his hand. William took it without looking at him.

Patrick pushed his glasses up his nose, studying William, before placing a hand gently on his chest.

"Get ready," he said. "It'll only take me a second, but it'll hurt pretty bad."

William's hand clutched Gabe's a little tighter, and a moment later Gabe felt that faint pulse of energy he could now sense around magic. William cried out in pain and doubled over, and Gabe was immediately ready with a steadying hand against his back.

Breathing hard, William let himself relax into Gabe's arms and closed his eyes.

"That sucked," he said weakly.

"Yeah," said Gabe, "but now, you're untraceable. Congratulations."

Patrick pushed his glasses up his nose again and put a hand on William's shoulder to steady him.

"You alright?" he asked him.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"You’re not going to throw up, are you?"

"No."

"Okay. Hold on, I'll get you some water."

Gabe helped William sit down again, prompting Pancake to slink out from her hiding place under the table and jump back up on his lap, and Gabe pulled out a chair across from him. It was quiet for a moment, save for the sound of the tap running and the birds starting to sing outside the window.

"You know," he mused, "some doctor someday is gonna get one hell of a shock if he x-rays your chest."

William laughed; it was the first genuine laugh Gabe had earned from him, and he was borderline disgusted to admit to himself how much it made his heart flutter. Luckily, Patrick coming back with a glass of water served as enough distraction that William didn't notice the stupid fucking smile he was unable to cover up.

Patrick watched William drink the entire thing in one go, then nodded as if he had passed a test.

"And now," he said, "both of you need to get the fuck to bed."

Neither William nor Gabe protested.

"William, I've got a spare room- it's all made up, you're welcome to it. And I don't know how you'd feel about sharing a bed with Gabe—"

"I'll take the couch," Gabe interrupted, his mind made up already. "I don't think William here is too hot on the idea of sleeping in the same bed as a demon.”

Patrick shot him a surprised look, and Gabe raised his eyebrows in response so he wouldn't say anything.

"The spare room's upstairs," Patrick said to William without taking his eyes off Gabe. "First door on the right."

William, who looked like he was too exhausted to notice or care about the exchange that was happening between Gabe and Patrick, thanked him and made his way upstairs.

The second William was out of sight, Patrick rounded on Gabe.

"Gabe, what the fuck."

"It's easier if he doesn't know, okay?"

"He's in your charge. You are going to be spending three days alone in a car with this kid. He's going to figure it out sooner or later."

"And it's okay if he does. But right now this is working pretty good for me. So I'm going to keep it up until I can't, and you are going to be a good friend and keep your mouth shut."

"Yeah, but—"

"Please, okay? Just leave it alone. Please."

Patrick regarded him for a moment before letting out an exasperated sigh. "You are more trouble than you're worth, Saporta."

"I've been told."

"This is on one condition only, okay? You are going to go to bed right now—"

"But I just made this coffee—"

" _Right now,_ and you are preferably going to get a full eight hours. Then you are going to stay for dinner, and _only then_ are you going to take off. That is, if William's ready."

"That's like three conditions. And did you miss the part where I literally just made this coffee?"

"I'll put it in the fridge for you. You can have it iced when you wake up."

"You're a cruel man," Gabe said, but there was no arguing with Patrick when he got like this; resigned to his fate, he made his way back towards the living room. Patrick followed him, watching as he sprawled out on the decades-old couch.

Patrick grabbed him a blanket and a pillow from the coat closet next to the staircase and tossed them over. "Just because you don't need to sleep doesn't mean you shouldn't."

"Okay, mom."

"Seriously. You're traveling with an innocent now. He's not used to doing that thing you do where you forget to actually take care of all your basic survival needs."

Gabe was ignoring him, closing his eyes.

"And when were you going to tell me you started doing Adderall?"

But Gabe didn't answer, because suddenly Patrick's couch was the most comfortable thing in the world, and he was asleep in about thirty seconds.

 

 

*

Gabe woke to a ray of deep orange sun hitting him directly in the face. In addition to one hell of an icepick headache, his hoodie was sort of making him feel like he was wearing a snowsuit in a sauna, so he untangled himself, shrugged it off, and wandered toward the kitchen with coffee on his mind.

He heard soft voices as he approached, and he walked into the kitchen to find William and Patrick deep in conversation over a couple more mugs of tea.

"You're dehydrated," Patrick said without looking up. "Drink some water before you have any coffee."

Gabe rolled his eyes but got a glass out of the cabinet and filled it with water.

"I'm making pasta for dinner," Patrick mentioned. Gabe swallowed and looked at Patrick, eyebrows raised.

"Dinner?"

"Yes, dinner. You promised me you'd stay."  
"Well, fuck, dude, I didn't think you actually meant it. We gotta book. The Apocalypse waits for no man."

Patrick shook his head and looked back down into his tea. "You drive around for two days doing Pete Wentz's dirty work...when's the last time you ate, anyway?"

"Don’t worry about it."

"Gabe," said Patrick with the cast to his voice that made Gabe feel like a teenager coming home after curfew, "I know how much better you're doing, but I still honestly worry about you sometimes—I mean, forgetting to eat and sleep and not to mention drinking all the time, it can't—"

"Well, you know, considering my standard of ‘doing good’ is ‘not railing coke off my phone in gas station bathrooms,’ I think I’m pretty solid for once in my life."

That shut Patrick up. Gabe could feel William staring at him, and he kept his gaze locked on Patrick. No one spoke.

"I need a cigarette," Gabe muttered, and he went out to Patrick's back porch, the screen door slamming behind him.

It was freezing cold, but he'd look pretty fucking stupid if he went back in now, so he pulled out his pack of Parliaments and lit one, his hands shaking. A minute later he heard the door creak open and slam shut again, and suddenly William was there, leaning against the wooden railing with him, shivering and pulling his jacket tighter around him.

"You want one?" Gabe asked.

William shook his head. "I don't smoke."

"An art student who doesn't smoke? Jesus, kid, don't you have any vices?"

"If you count being addicted to Game of Thrones," William mused, staring out at Patrick's yard, and Gabe had to laugh.

A moment passed between them, filled by cars whizzing past on the other side of the trees and the faint strains of music from the jazz club down the street. William cleared his throat. "Were you being serious in there? When you said—the thing about the, uh—"

"About me being a cokehead piece of shit?" Gabe laughed bitterly and took a drag. "Yeah, I was. For twen—for a long fuckin' time."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. It was my fault." A motorcycle went by in the distance; Gabe stuck his cigarette back in his mouth, willing himself to end it right there, but the words spilled out again anyway.

"It was just so easy, y'know? So—normal. I made it normal, like, I told myself it was just part of the job. Power brokers, stockbrokers. The Underworld Market's the Wall Street of Hell. Everybody does a little blow to get through the day."

He paused to take another drag; William was silent, listening.

"And I made all kinds of excuses to myself. Gotta stay sharp on the job, gotta stay up all night driving—anyway. Before I knew it I was blowing three lines before every deal and my shirts were all stained with blood and I couldn't sleep."

"You...got better, though?"

"Yeah. Two years clean last month."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks." Gabe blew some smoke out of the side of his mouth. "Patrick helped me a lot. He's got this way with people—this natural tendency to try and heal. So when I started bringing him innocents..."

"You know," William said quietly, "we really should stay."

Gabe turned to argue, but one look into those stupid doe eyes and he felt his will crumble. He sighed and threw the end of his cigarette into the yard. "Okay, college boy, you win."

He pushed back through the door, welcoming the indoor heating, and said, "Alright, we'll stay for dinner. But we are leaving immediately afterwards."

"Fine by me," said Patrick, and—did he sound a little self-satisfied? Either way, Gabe could have sworn he saw him mouth "thank you" to William before putting the water on to boil.

Gabe was tense at dinner, still mad at himself for spilling his fucking guts to some random innocent like that. He’d never told anyone all that before - not that he had the opportunity to tell anyone much of anything, outside of Pete and Patrick, but that was beside the point. He decided it was best to just keep his mouth shut and eat his pesto, a specialty of Patrick's with basil from his herb garden, while he listened to Patrick and William talk.

"...I started showing signs of power when I was ten, and my parents, of course, had no idea what to do with me, so when I was twelve I moved down to New Orleans to study magic there. Well, that is, until I went off to serve in the war."

William nodded, scraping up a few penne noodles. “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

Patrick smiled. “The First World War.”

William half-inhaled his pasta in surprise and coughed. "What?"

"Gabe didn’t tell you? Perks of being a warlock–you age very, very slowly. My friend Travie–he’s the one I studied with, he practically raised me–he’s a hundred and seventy and he doesn’t look a day over thirty."

"Wow. So you’re, like...”

“Oh, let’s see...I’ll be...a hundred and seventeen, I think. A hundred and seventeen this year.”

“You’re joking.”

"Nope. I was born on April 27, 1896 to first generation Irish immigrants on a tiny little farm in Ohio. Lived there until Travie found me and brought me down to New Orleans.”

“And you served in World War I, you said? So you must have been about…”

"Just about your age, come to think of it. Twenty-one. I thought I could use my healing powers to help people, but I ended up hurting more. Long story. Then I came back to New Orleans, and that's when I met Pete - I’m sure Gabe’s told you about Pete…? Yeah, so I’ve known him since then.” Patrick stabbed another couple noodles with his fork. “And speaking of old, if you can believe it, he’s over a thousand.”

William turned to Gabe, looking eager. "So how old are you?"

Gabe took a sip of water and gave a small smile. "Older than dirt."

Patrick threw a quick glance at Gabe and changed the subject back to his days in New Orleans. With William's attention averted, Gabe finished as quickly as he could and avoided both William’s and Patrick’s eyes.

"You're gonna have to tell him sometime," Patrick pointed out as Gabe helped him do the dishes after dinner.

Gabe dried off a glass and set it on the dish towel on the other side of the sink. “You underestimate my power.”

Patrick snorted, scrubbing at a spot of pesto sauce. "He's an art history student, Gabe. You saw how he is. They're no strangers to theology. If you don't tell him, he'll figure it out on his own."

"Yeah, I guess I know that." Gabe sighed and drummed his fingers on the counter. "It's just...it's easier if he's scared of me."

Patrick smiled knowingly and picked up another plate. "You're not giving him enough credit. He isn't scared of you. He's stronger than he looks."

"Yeah, okay. Well, it works better if we keep some distance."

"You're allowed to get attached to people, you know."

"Not this one. He's the most… well, innocent person I've ever met.” He glanced toward the top of the stairs where he knew William was gathering his stuff from the spare room. “As soon as this is all over he's going straight back to his quiet little college life and never thinking about this again."

"You think he's capable of never thinking of it again? This is gonna be one seriously traumatic experience. And it'll be better for him if he has someone he knows he can talk to about it."

Gabe dried his hands off with a dish towel and pushed his sleeves back down. "Not my problem. If you’re so worried, give him your number."

They heard footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later William was standing in the kitchen, jacket on.

"You ready to go?" Gabe asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be," William said. He turned to Patrick. "Thanks so much for everything."

"No problem at all," Patrick said. "It's what I do. Here, let me put my number in your phone just in case you need anything—"

“Hey, I'm gonna finally have this fuckin' coffee now, okay?" Gabe said, but Patrick was preoccupied with trying to figure out William's iPhone, so he just pulled the leftover coffee out of the refrigerator and began searching through the cabinets for one of Patrick's travel mugs.

"Hey—" Patrick protested when he noticed what Gabe was doing; Gabe put up a hand to silence him and finished filling the mug with coffee.

"I'll bring it back," he said. "Not like I'm never gonna see you again."

"Well, all right," Patrick said, then pulled Gabe into a tight hug. "Be safe, you two, okay? Don't go further than Kansas City tonight. You know evil uses the night to get its dirty work done."

"I'm well aware."

He lowered his voice. "And remember to take care of him, for God's sake."

"You know I will."

"And one more thing," Patrick said as William headed towards the door. "Tell Pete to take better care of you."

"Pete does take care of me," Gabe replied, and he left it at that.


	3. Don't Look at Me, Man, I'm Just an Art History Student

  
_ life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity, & stumble from defeat to defeat.  
-anaïs nin _

 

III. DON’T LOOK AT ME, MAN, I’M JUST AN ART HISTORY STUDENT

They made it three hours down 70 West without saying a word to each other, which was fine with Gabe. Still rattled by his complete lack of hesitancy in telling some kid he barely knew his entire life story, he kept the radio tuned to the 80s station, stared straight ahead, and tried not to think about his passenger.

It worked until they passed the first Kansas City exit and William cleared his throat a little hesitantly.

“Didn’t, um… didn’t Patrick say we shouldn’t go further than Kansas City tonight?”

Gabe rolled his eyes. “Patrick can be a little overprotective.”

“I didn’t think it was a bad idea. Where are we going, then?”

“With any luck, New Mexico,” Gabe said, and he turned up the radio, hoping to leave it at that.

“New Mexico?” William pulled out his phone and typed something in. “That’s, like, twelve more hours. I think you might kill us if we try to do that all in one night.”

“I don’t need to sleep.”

“You sure looked like you did at Patrick’s house today.”

Gabe sighed and turned the radio back down again. “Look. It’s nice that you suddenly care about me so much, but I really don’t need it. I’ve been around for awhile. I know what I need, I know what I can handle, and I know that there are more important things than fixing my sleep schedule.”

“It’s your call,” William said, shrugging, and went back to his phone. “I’m just saying that it’s okay to put yourself first sometimes.”

They both fell silent for a moment after that, the space between them filled with the sounds of the road and Rick Springfield singing Jessie’s Girl. 

“Do you know where we’re gonna end up, then?” William asked. “I want to let Sisky know. He’s worried.”

Gabe drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Well…”

“Well what?”

“You’d probably like to sleep in a real bed, wouldn’t you?”

He heard, rather than saw, William’s smile. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

“There’s a decent place a few miles from here. We can crash there for the night and get going first thing tomorrow morning.”

William settled back and put his feet up on the dashboard. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Get your feet off my Pontiac,” Gabe told him, with as much surliness as he could manage. God forbid the kid get the idea that he actually liked him.

*

Gabe had been to the motel before, but not too frequently, which was intentional: it wasn’t good to get too chummy with local business owners in Gabe’s line of work. Besides, he kind of liked the air of mystery it gave him - the guy that showed up every ten years, stayed for one night, paid with a fat stack of cash or a fake credit card, and disappeared the next morning. It was kind of like being a cryptid.

They pulled into a parking spot next to the motel office just after midnight. Gabe jumped out and was about to head inside when he noticed William had not followed suit. He opened his door again and peered in.

"Come on, princess, I can't leave you in the car."

William looked at him reproachfully. "It's cold."

"Know what isn't cold? Hell. Suck it up."

William sighed and reluctantly got out of the car. Gabe was already at the office door, and he held it open for William, checking over his shoulder before going in after him. 

The office smelled like wet dog and Febreze, and a small TV on the wall was playing some TLC show at a low volume. After a quick assessment, he determined that the guy standing behind the counter was not a demon, just tired. 

"Can we get a room, please?"

The man eyed them. "Y'all want one bed or two?"

"Two," said Gabe evenly, pretending not to notice that William had gone slightly pink.

The man handed Gabe two card keys. “Room 27,” he said. “Y’all have a nice night.” 

As they made their way to the room, Gabe commented, "Used to be a lot easier, y’know. Used to have actual keys, none of this electronic bullshit. You got yourself in a tight spot, all you had to do was jimmy the lock and pray no one was fucking in there."

William laughed, his breath fogging the air. Gabe swiped the card and pushed the door open. "After you, magic boy."

The inside of the room was nondescript and probably hadn't been updated since the eighties, but it was at least very neat. 

"Not bad," Gabe assessed. 

"Except can we maybe turn the heat up?" William said. 

Gabe glanced over at William, who hadn't uncrossed his arms, and laughed. "Jesus, kid. You know, you might want to eat a sandwich once in awhile.”

“Look who’s talking,” he thought he heard William mutter, and he smiled to himself.

He went over to the aging A/C unit by the window and dialed up the heat, putting it on full blast for good measure. "There we go, Mr. Four Percent Body Fat," he said. "That oughta do it."

While he had the thought, he pulled the curtains on the window closed as far as he could, then deadbolted the door. 

William coughed. "Didn't you say earlier that locks don't stop demons?"

"Very observant. They don't, but it'd buy us a little time." William nodded just as a particularly violent shiver racked his body. Gabe raised his eyebrows. 

"Christ, look at you. Do you want to borrow my hoodie or something until the heat kicks in?"

"Won’t you be cold?"

Gabe was already shrugging off his hoodie. "Nah. I'm used to it. I used to be homeless."

Gabe had grown used to the look that crossed William’s face, the almost condescending look of concern and sympathy. "Really?" he asked, his voice low. He took Gabe’s hoodie and began to pull off his own jacket.

Gabe cleared his throat. The kid wouldn’t stop staring at him. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Yeah.”

William sat down on the bed closest to the window. "I don't get it. Don't you, like...I mean...live in Hell, I guess? Or whatever?"

Gabe sighed, looking at the ceiling and wondering if he should continue, if he would even be able to; curiously, he once again found the words spilling out of his mouth before he could even weigh the options. 

"Hell doesn’t really want me," he said. "I don’t have anywhere to go but Earth.”

"So, what, are you saying you were kicked out of Hell?"

Gabe cracked a half-smile. "Not exactly.” He sat down on the other bed, hands clasped in his lap. “See, while power brokers themselves are a bunch of self-important hotshots, it… isn’t the most respected profession in the demonic world. In fact, we’re basically pond scum. The only time we’re tolerated in Hell is when we’re down there making deals, but other than that we’ve gotta be a little nomadic. And, y’know, being a power broker isn't the most consistent form of income. And with an addiction that was costing me more than I made…”

"Oh, yeah." William fell silent and lowered his gaze to the dusty carpet, chewing on his bottom lip. 

"So yeah, I'm pretty used to the cold." Gabe stared at his hands; the ghost of a memory shuddered through him, a winter chill echoing in his bones. "I used to couch surf, whatever I could find, anything to get out of sleeping in my car, especially when the winter hit...I was lucky I even had a car. It was all I had left after I got evicted."

"God, I'm sorry," William said, looking up, and when Gabe looked up to meet William’s eyes he knew he meant it. 

He shrugged, looking away again. "Whatever. It was a long time ago. I think it's time we got some sleep, don’t you?" He peeled off his shirt and glanced over at William, still fully dressed and wrapped in blankets. 

He couldn't help but smile again. "You gonna be okay over there?"

"Yeah, fine."

"Okay." Gabe climbed into bed and shut the light off. He likely wasn't going to sleep anytime soon, of course, because he was a notorious insomniac with an affinity for caffeine and behavioral meds, but it was nice to be in a bed. William's breathing slowed almost immediately, and, letting the sound of it relax him, Gabe eventually drifted off.

*

Gabe awoke slowly and rather reluctantly the next morning, his head buried in the scratchy pillowcase, a thin beam of winter sunlight splashed across the bed. He sat up and stretched, feeling his joints pop, the thought of coffee and a cigarette on his mind. It was not until he looked over to the other side of the room that he realized something was wrong.

William's sheets were bunched up, but there was no sign of William. 

Gabe's heart began to beat faster. It had been stupid of him, really, to let himself fall asleep in the first place, stupid of him to think nothing would happen—they were too close to home. He knew he should have gone on to New Mexico anyway, he knew he shouldn't have listened to that kid, no matter how big and soft and concerned his eyes were—

A creak sounded from the doorway, and Gabe scrambled to reach for the bedside table where he’d left his knife last night, but before he could grab it the door was open, spilling chilly air into the room. 

It was not a demon, but rather William, wearing a Hogwarts shirt and a clean pair of jeans and carrying something wrapped in a paper towel. 

"I got breakfast," he said. 

Gabe immediately relaxed. "Thanks."

William sat on the bed and unwrapped the food while Gabe attempted to compose himself, glancing around for his shirt. When he'd located it and looked up, he saw a blueberry muffin and an orange waiting for him; William was chewing thoughtfully on a muffin of his own. 

"You know," said Gabe, reaching for the other muffin and starting to peel the wrapper off, "it was really dangerous for you to go off on your own like that. Especially with me still sleeping."

"I took your knife," William offered. 

Gabe looked at the bedside table and for the first time noticed that it was empty. 

"Okay, that was a good call," he admitted. "But still."

William shrugged. "I figured I better let you sleep. You really do seem like you don't get enough."

There he went again. What was up with this kid? Gabe popped the last of the muffin in his mouth and pulled his shirt on, electing to ignore William’s comment. 

"Anyway," he said around a mouthful of blueberry, "as soon as you're ready we should probably go. Well, as soon as I get some coffee."

"You're the boss," William said, and tossed the paper towel he was holding onto the nearest trash can. 

In the middle of pulling on his hoodie, Gabe paused and turned. 

"Thanks for breakfast," he said. 

William smiled. "No problem."

*

In the past few years of Pete leading an increasingly dangerous life as a double agent, a sort of code had arisen between him and Gabe out of necessity. It was ridiculous and half-assed for sure, not exactly James Bond-worthy, but it did the trick; when Gabe texted the words “taco bells got a new freeze flavor” to Pete he knew to wait in front of the bathroom mirror for Pete to appear.

Sure enough, he was there a few minutes later, looking like he hadn’t slept in several days but no less businesslike than usual.

He flattened his hair and coughed before addressing him. “Gabey baby. Update on the sitch.”

“Just me and the kid. Motel room in KC.”

“Perfect. You been followed?”

Gabe’s minded flashed briefly back to the scrawny gas station worker, but he pushed the thought away and shook his head. “Not likely. I got Patrick to make him untraceable.”

“That’s my boy. Always thinking ahead. Did you tell Patrick I said hi?”

“‘Course.” Gabe eyed Pete a little more closely, taking in his wrinkled shirt, the dark circles under his eyes. “You doing okay?”

“Oh – yeah, fine.” Pete rubbed his eyes. “Vi – The Source wouldn’t get off my ass last night.”

“Shit. She onto anything, you think?”

“Never in a millennium. You know I don’t crack easy.”

“All God’s creation can attest to that. You wanna meet the kid?”

Pete shook his head. “Nah, I shouldn’t. Don’t wanna be able to give too much information if I’m caught, y’know?”

Gabe crossed and uncrossed his arms, an uneasy feeling rising in the pit of his stomach next to the muffin he’d just eaten. “Pete, honestly, how much danger do you think we’re in?”

Pete waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. Just a precaution.”

“Okay.” Gabe wrapped his arms around himself and looked at the floor. Pete sighed.

“Seriously, everything’s fine. I’m just making sure everything will continue to be fine until you get here and we get this whole mess sorted out, alright?”

“Alright.”

“I don’t need you to worry. I just need you to get the kid to me as quickly and discreetly as possible.” He lowered his voice. “How’s he taking it, by the way?”

Gabe glanced toward the door. “Pretty well, considering. I mean, he’s pretty quiet, y’know, typical loser art student, and I think he’s got, like, wicked bad anxiety or something. But he seems to be...warming up to me. Sort of.”

“Who wouldn’t? Grumpy loner who works for the devil and has little to no regard for the feelings of others or his personal health and safety – what’s not to like?”

“Shut up before I stab you with a holy blade. Anyway, I’m gonna go check out, and we’ll try to make it to New Mexico today. I wanted to last night, but he wouldn’t let me.”

Pete snorted derisively. “He wouldn’t _let_ you?”

“He’s...persuasive.”

“Yeah, okay. Well, I’ll see you in three days, unless that adorable art student manages to crush your iron will again. Love you. Stay safe.”

“Love you too. Will do. Peace out.”

And then Gabe was staring at his own reflection again, and he leaned on the bathroom counter and sighed. He looked up at himself for a moment; hell, he was starting to look as exhausted as Pete had. He shook himself and pushed the bathroom door open, trying to make his voice sound encouraging. 

“I’m gonna go check out,” he called. “Then we’ll hit the road, okay?”

“Sounds good,” William said. “Here’s your knife. What do you carry this around for, anyway? If you’re a demon and all.”

“It’s a blessed blade,” Gabe responded shortly, strapping it back on and putting on his hoodie. He glanced in the bathroom mirror one more time to make sure the knife was effectively concealed, then flipped the light switch and closed the door. “It’s the only thing that can hurt a demon.”

“Isn’t that a little dangerous?”

“Just like a human being carrying around a regular knife.” Gabe scanned the room to make sure nothing had been left behind, and, satisfied, turned to William. “Can I get a piece of your hair?”

“My _hair?_ ”

“Yeah, your hair. I’m gonna do a cleansing spell, erase our energy from the room. You can never be too careful.”

William looked doubtful but pulled a hair from his head nonetheless; Gabe plucked out one of his own and held them from his fingertips, long and brown and silken next to a short black curl. 

He pulled out his lighter and held it to the ends of the strands, muttering a few words in Latin under his breath. “Alright, come on, we’re burning daylight.”

*

They checked out without a hitch. Gabe let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding as his credit card, which claimed he was a man named Keith Jones, went through. As he signed his fake name, though, the face of the woman behind the counter told him she wouldn't have cared anyway.

"Drive safe," she said before pulling a pack of Camels out of her pocket and retreating through the door in the back. 

"You seemed a little worried for a second, Keith," William said gravely as they walked out to the car. "There wouldn't be a chance that card isn't legit, would there?"

"I'm appalled you would even suggest such a thing," Gabe said dryly, getting in and closing the door behind him. 

William laughed and leaned back in the passenger side. "Keith. I'm not gonna let that go all day."

"Whatever. Two can play at that game. Nice shirt, did you get that for your 21st instead of real alcohol?"

"What house are you in?" William asked as Gabe started the car, and at Gabe's dubious look raised his eyebrows. 

"Seriously? You've been around for this long and you don't know Harry Potter?"

"I make a pretty valiant effort to keep up with pop culture, man, but sometimes stuff just slips by me."

"Okay. So there's Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin—" William paused, seeming to catch himself. "Sorry. I, uh, I won't go into all that. But you should read it. Or at least watch the movies. Put it at the top of your list."

"Alright, I'll do that when I'm not stopping the Apocalypse."

"No, hey, I really mean that. Like, I'm so serious. It'll change your life. Whenever I read it, it's like..." William smiled. "I don't know. It's like coming home." He paused, staring out the window. "I got halfway through Goblet of Fire with my little sister before I left for college. I made her swear to finish it on her own. She can do it, she's ten and she's already smarter than I am. Getting straight A's and everything. Which is totally weird to me. Like, when did they start giving out grades in the fifth grade?"

"You have a little sister?" Gabe asked. For some reason he'd sort of forgotten that William didn't exist in a vacuum, that he had a life and a home and a sister he read books to. 

"Yeah, her name's Katie. She’s adopted, which I guess explains the whole genius thing.”

“You’re not allowed to sit here and tell me you’re stupid, kid.” 

“You haven’t met Katie. But anyway, yeah, my parents got divorced a while back, so we pretty much only had each other growing up. I almost didn't go to college 'cause I didn't want to leave her. But my parents made me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, they're both lawyers, y'know, real high-powered stuff." He laughed wryly. "You can imagine they were super stoked about the whole art history thing. Half of why I got the job at the museum was to prove to them that my degree isn't worthless."

Gabe felt a surge of protectiveness, one that he couldn’t immediately shake off. "But you seem like you really love it."

"Oh, God, I do. It's kinda my life. I could go on about it for hours - trust me, it's annoyed plenty of my friends."

"Try me."

William gave him a doubtful stare. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I am. I don't know anything about art. I wanna hear from the expert."

William snorted. "Well, I wouldn't exactly call myself an expert."

"You're the closest thing to an expert I've ever met."

"Alright, fine. What do you want me to tell you?"

"Tell me about your favorite movement or whatever."

William groaned. “That's like asking me who my favorite child is."

"We've got time. You can think about it."

"No, wait... Okay, I guess it's the rococo movement."

"The what?"

"Okay, so you know baroque, right?"

"No."

"Yes you do, come on. Everybody knows baroque."

"Demon."

"Alright, alright, okay. So the baroque movement started in about the early sixteen hundreds..."

*

“...and the cool thing about Artemisia Gentileschi’s Judith is that she’s _engaged_ with the action, you know? She’s not passive like she was in the work of all the men who painted her – she’s dynamic and totally immersed in what she’s doing, which is, of course, slicing the fucking head off Holofernes, and there’s all this blood just spraying everywhere, including all over Judith, and it’s metal as _shit._ ”

Gabe grinned to himself; William had been like this for hours, gesturing animatedly, his eyes bright. “I feel bad interrupting you, but Patrick did make me promise to feed you.”

William looked surprised. "What time is it?"

"Almost one."

"Oh my god, really? Shit." He laughed and leaned back in his seat. "No one's ever let me talk that long before."

"Well, you did a good job. It's almost like I actually went to college."

"Anytime. I’m full of that shit. It’s basically all I’m good at. Where're we going for lunch?"

"I don't know. You got any dietary restrictions?"

"Uh...no, I guess. I'll be fine with whatever."

"Cool. I'm a vegetarian, but I can usually manage. We can pull off and look for something."

William laughed again—tried to stifle it, but it came out anyway.

"You got a problem?"

"Sorry, it's just—" William shook his head, smiling. "Vegetarian demon. That's all."

"Animals are way better than people." Gabe deftly lit a cigarette and rolled down the window before shifting into the right lane. "For starters, they don't have smartass mouths."

"Sorry," said William, but he was still smiling. He looked at Gabe for a moment more before asking, “Why do you smoke so much?”

Gabe shrugged. “Gives me something to do with my hands. I get fidgety really easy. It helps keep me occupied while I’m driving.” He signalled and took the exit ahead of him. “I’m glad I have you to talk to, actually – I usually gotta pop a couple Adderall to get through a drive like this.”

William cocked his head to the side. “You ever thought you might have ADHD?”

“What?” Gabe shook his head and ashed his cigarette. “Don’t be stupid. I’m a demon, not a hyper seven-year-old.”

“No, it’s a real thing. They’ve done a ton more research about it over the past couple years, and it affects way more people than they used to think, even adults. Sisky has it. He takes Adderall too.”

“What’s that short for, anyway?”

“What, Sisky? His name’s Adam Siska. But he doesn’t really seem like an Adam Siska. So we just started calling him Sisky.”

“Does that mean I can call you Becky?”

“Not on your life.” They pulled into the parking lot of a small diner, its name spelled out in pink cursive neon letters that looked tired in the midday sun.

“This look okay?” Gabe asked, and William nodded. 

Outside the weather was much more pleasant, given that they were somewhere in Oklahoma by now, but Gabe didn’t have time to stop and enjoy it. He let William go in before him again, an action that was quickly becoming a habit. The diner was relatively empty; Gabe guessed that this was about as much lunch rush as they ever got. 

“Go ‘head and sit down wherever you like,” called a bored-looking waitress. “Can I grab y’all something to drink?”

“I’ll take a coffee,” Gabe said. “Bill, you?”

“Um, iced tea,” William said, and the waitress nodded and disappeared through the swinging doors that led into the kitchen. Gabe selected the table closest to the exit, where he always preferred to be.

"You know what's weird?" William said as they sat down. 

"This whole entire situation?"

"Well, yeah, that," William admitted. "But what's weird is I'm like...having fun, almost."

_He's having fun. With you. He's having fun with you. Even though you're outrunning the Apocalypse, the kid's having fucking fun with you._ "I'll take your word for it."  
The waitress arrived with William’s tea. He took it and waited until she was out of earshot before he spoke again.

"No, seriously. I don't know, for a demon, you just seem so...normal."

Gabe snorted. "Me and Pete are weird when it comes to demons. We've both been on Earth a long time, which makes us a lot more human than other demons."   
"What does that mean?"

"I'll explain it to you sometime. But yeah, most demons only pop up to Earth to trade powers or to stir up trouble when something chaotic's going on."

William absently stirred his tea. "Like what?"

"Oh, you know, Vietnam War, Boston Massacre, that kind of thing. Pete swears he singlehandedly started the French Revolution."

"Damn," said William, sounding impressed. He took a swallow of his tea and promptly gagged. 

"Sweet tea?"

William nodded, making a face. Gabe had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. "They didn't tell me it was gonna be sweet tea," William said. 

"They do things different down South, Yankee boy."

"Shut up. Aren't you from like New Jersey or something?"

"I've been around. And watch your mouth about Jersey. Oh—thanks." Gabe took his coffee and downed a third of it. “Can I get this veggie wrap thing? With fries, please. And I’ll probably need some more coffee pretty soon.”

*

The bell on the diner door rang as Gabe pushed it open, leaning back against it so William could step outside. The clouds had cleared from the sky, and Gabe let the sun soak into his skin, relishing the contrast to the weather back east.

“This isn’t so bad, huh?” Gabe said on the walk back to the car. “Better than sitting in class all day, anyway. At least you’re out of the cold.”

William smiled. “Yeah, I guess it’s better than class.” He pulled his jacket tighter around himself. “But I’m still cold.”

Gabe raised his eyebrows. "Okay, seriously, is that something I should be worried about?"

"What?"

Gabe unlocked the door and climbed in. "I was practically sweating in there. Are you, like, okay?”

"Oh, I’m recovering from an eating disorder," William said, quite easily. 

About a million things tumbled through Gabe’s mind, all of them thoughtful and eloquent, but all that came out of his mouth was, "Oh."

William sat down in the passenger seat. "Yeah, I mean, it was awhile ago. But I still have a really low body fat percentage, so I'm always cold. It kinda sucks, actually."

Gabe replayed in his mind the comments he’d made to William the previous night, what he’d thought were just playful jabs, and immediately felt awful. William closed the car door and stared out the windshield for a moment.

"You know I never even told Sisky about that?" he said. "My parents and my sister were the only ones who ever knew."

"How long have you been in recovery?" Gabe asked quietly. 

"About a year or so, I guess. It was the worst in high school. Like, it was already bad enough that I was the weird gay kid who had no friends and sat alone reading about the pre-Raphaelites at lunch, and coupled with the fact that I've got this really bad anxiety and I stutter when I get nervous—"

Gabe, who had been focused on the words _weird gay kid,_ snapped back to the present and frowned. "Wait. You do?"

William paused for a moment. "Huh. I guess I haven't done it around you. But anyway, yeah. It just kind of...took control."

"I know what that's like," Gabe said. "Addiction, right?"

"Yeah. And even though it was bad, even though it almost killed me..."

"...you miss it sometimes?" Gabe finished. 

"Yeah," said William in surprise. 

They were quiet for a moment, staring at the road.

"I'm a Ravenclaw, by the way," William said. 

"What?"

"That's what house I'm in. I forgot to tell you earlier." William scrutinized him for a second. “And I bet you’d be a Gryffindor.”

“Why, are they super handsome and great in bed?”

"They’re a bunch of arrogant dicks, actually,” William said pleasantly, and Gabe flipped him off.

The next few hours were filled by William telling Gabe all about his major and his family and his roommate and his favorite bands. He was smiling more often now, laughing, even throwing playful insults at Gabe every once in awhile. Gabe was lightening up, too; he fought cheerfully with William over the radio station and sang along to old eighties hits and smoked cigarettes out the window. As they made it slowly but surely over state line after state line, Gabe realized he hadn't enjoyed driving this much in a long, long time.

They reached a comfortable silence just after sunset, the traffic thinning out to reveal the vast and empty desert that gave Gabe the funny feeling of being the only person in the world.

Well, he and the boy that could start the Apocalypse. He ashed his cigarette out the window and glanced over to the passenger seat. 

William was fast asleep, his long legs pulled awkwardly to his chest, his head resting against the window. Gabe felt the corners of his mouth twitch and reached over to turn down the radio.

He was beginning to like this kid too much for his own good.


	4. Gabe Saporta's Mid-life Crisis

  
_there is never a time or place for true love. it happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment.  
-sarah dessen_

 

IV. GABE SAPORTA’S MID-LIFE CRISIS

Gabe pulled into a gas station on the outskirts of a dusty Arizona tourist trap as night fell, one of those huge ones frequented by cross-country truckers where Gabe always had a suspicion that the veil between worlds was thinner than usual. As he pulled up to one of the pumps, the slowing of the car over the bumpy gravel caused William to stir. He blinked slowly, wrinkling his nose. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked.

"Not long. We’re almost there. Just stopped to get some gas so we don’t have to do it tomorrow morning.”

“Oh. Okay.” William yawned. “Think they got a bathroom in there?”

"Better not check unless you feel like paying for me.”

William stared at him. "Seriously?"

"What?"

"You're gonna let me go in there alone, just like that? No secret service BS? No 'get down, Mr. President?'"

Gabe handed him a wad of cash. "You've earned it, kid. If anyone's eyes flash a weird color you run, though, you hear me?"

William pushed the door open and swung his legs out, his boots crunching on the gravel. "Dragged to Hell while I'm buying Sour Patch Kids. What a way to go."

"It's happened to lesser men than you."

The car door closed, and Gabe watched William through the storefront window, waiting until he’d left the bathroom, grabbed a package of Sour Patch Kids, and gotten in line behind a grizzled trucker chewing on a Slim Jim.

The sun had just dipped behind the mountains, bathing everything in a rosy haze. Gabe hadn’t been out West in a while; Pete usually came to visit him wherever he was. He’d forgotten how much he liked it, especially the parts like this, where no one cared who you were or what you’d done.

The timed lights around the gas station came to life with a hum, spilling a pool of fluorescent light into the desert. The trucker that had been in front of William stepped out of the store and lit a cigarette. That jogged Gabe's memory, and he pulled out his phone to text William to grab him a pack of Parliaments while he was at it. 

Before he could, his phone started buzzing in his hand. Patrick's face lit up the screen, a picture taken of him at a jazz club in Memphis last year. Gabe frowned and turned away from the storefront, sliding his thumb across the screen and holding the phone up to his ear.

"Hey, dude, what's going on?"

No response. This wasn't uncommon; Patrick was as inept at technology as any old man, stubbornly clinging to a Samsung flip phone until earlier the previous year. Still, Gabe felt uneasy in a way he couldn't quite place. 

"Patrick? You there?"

Gabe thought for a moment he could make out something on the other end - some distant sound - but then the signal wavered, cutting out for a few seconds before steadying again. There was a muffled thud and a stab of static, then the line went dead. 

"Hey, you can go ahead and pump now."

Gabe turned to find William standing at the driver’s side window, those stupid doe eyes gazing at him with slight concern as he chewed.

"Oh. Thanks." 

“Want me to do it for you?”

“Don’t touch my car.” Gabe got out and got the pump down, lining it up with his gas tank then turning his eyes to the numbers ticking by on the little screen. William was still looking at him.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Fine.” Gabe leaned back against his car. “Patrick just called me but he wasn't on the other end. That's all."

William shrugged and leaned back with him. "I wouldn't worry about it," he said around a mouthful of Sour Patch Kids. "He's a hundred-year-old warlock. He seems like he can take care of himself."

"You're probably right. It’s probably stupid of me to worry.” Still, though, the feeling he’d had before persisted – he couldn’t shake it. His mind still on Patrick, his eyes drifted over to the Sour Patch Kids William was holding – and he immediately forgot about the phone call.

“Oh, fuck,” he said, mentally counting the hours. “You’re probably hungry, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

William looked at him pointedly. “I’m… not in the habit.”

“Right.” Gabe rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Well, not to worry, because I’m fuckin’ starving. We’ll grab something on the way to the motel.”

“We’re in the middle of assfuck nowhere, though. What’s even open this late?”

“Oh, I’ve got some idea.”

*

“You’re a centuries-old demon and your guilty pleasure is Taco Bell?”

“Hey,” Gabe said sternly. “Taco Bell has kept me alive in the past. I will not hear another word against it from your ungrateful ass.”

“I thought you didn’t need to eat.”

Gabe rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean, smartass. Can you stick that receipt in the glovebox for me?”

William opened the glovebox only to stare for a long moment. “There are… a lot of Taco Bell receipts in here.”

“I have a problem, okay?”

“Well, this is definitely going on my list of weirdest things I’ve ever done,” William said, shoving the receipt in the glovebox and shutting it. “Are we there yet?”

“Two more minutes. And get your feet off my Pontiac.”

A few turns later they pulled into the parking lot of a motel with a cactus glowing in neon green on its sign. William stepped out of the car and immediately grimaced. “It’s cold again.”

“Desert night. It’ll do that to you.” Gabe jumped out, slamming his door. “You want my jacket?”

“Please.”

Gabe handed his hoodie to William, who draped it around his shoulders because it wouldn’t go on over his own jacket. They made their way up to the low stone facade of the motel office, lit by the waxing moon. 

Inside an oscillating metal fan whirred loudly, almost drowning out the old-school country music that played in the background. A woman with floral tattoo sleeves and thick-framed glasses glanced up and smiled as they entered.

“Hey, guys! Settling down for the night?”

“Yeah,” said Gabe and William at the same time.

“Perfect, I’ve got just the room for you two. Y’all on the way home from Vegas?”

“We came from Chicago, actually,” William said with a bright smile. “We’re on our way to Los Angeles.”

“A road trip! Ain’t that the cutest. What a great idea for Valentine’s Day.”

William made a choking sound in the back of his throat, and Gabe pounded him on the back a couple times. William turned it into a coughing fit while Gabe plastered a grin on his face.

“Sorry,” he said. “He’s getting over a cold.”

“Of course. So will y’all be here just the night, or…?”

“Yeah, yeah, just the night,” Gabe said. “We gotta head out tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, well, you feel free to sleep in, now, all right?” The woman winked and smiled. “No rush.”

Gabe accepted the two card keys from the woman, trying to make as little eye contact with her as possible, and then took William’s arm and steered him toward the entrance.

“You want your jacket back?” William asked as Gabe opened the door. “It is pretty cold.”

“Oh, no thanks, honey,” Gabe said dryly. “You keep it.”

The door closed behind them and William leaned back against the wall. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god is right.”

“I didn’t even realize what day it was.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“She thought we were–”

“Yeah.”

“So does that mean–”

William’s sentence was interrupted by their arrival to the room, as Gabe swiped the card key and pushed the door open.

They both fell silent, staring at the single double bed with its musty, innocent-looking floral duvet cover. William looked at him with a question in his eyes he was too nervous to ask. 

"It's not weird unless you make it weird," Gabe said, and flopped onto the bed. "You want your Taco Bell or what?"

A few minutes later they had a haphazard Taco Bell picnic spread out on the bed in front of them. William had removed his shoes and was sitting cross-legged on the bed as far away from Gabe as possible, watching Seinfeld while he chewed thoughtfully on a bean burrito. Taco Bell really did have a new freeze flavor, and Gabe took the occasional sip from it, mostly paying attention to his phone and trying really hard not the think about the position of his body in relation to William’s.

“So exactly who are you, anyway?” William asked, still staring at the screen. 

Gabe looked up from the Vice article he was reading. “What?”

William turned to him. “I’ve been spilling my guts to you all day,” he said. “And I don’t even know your last name.”

“It’s Saporta. Happy?”

William raised his eyebrows. Gabe rolled his eyes and put his phone down. “Fine. Would you settle for how I met Pete?"

"For now?" William sighed dramatically and flopped down onto his back. "Yes, I suppose."

"Well, it was a dark, stormy night in 1988."

"1988?"

"Yeah, 1988. It was a real year that happened, contrary to popular belief."

"No, just...I don't know, I was thinking more along the lines of 1588."

"It was October of 1988, I was at a Great White concert, I was coked up to the gills. Do you want me to tell you the story or not?"

"Alright, fine, I get it. Continue."

"I’m watching Great White, minding my own business, having a great time. Then out of the crowd appears one very drunk demon by the name of Pete Wentz. We make out for awhile, I take him back to a motel after the show, and..."

"And?"

_And what, Saporta?_

"...and that's it."

"That's it?"

"Yeah. He was way too fucked up to attempt anything remotely sexy so I let him pass out. We've been friends ever since."

Gabe rolled over and tossed his half-melted freeze into the trash can. William was looking at him with one eyebrow cocked. 

"That's seriously all you're going to tell me."

"To continue, please insert twenty-five cents."

"Wow, fifteen seconds,” William muttered. “I think that's the most I've gotten out of you this whole time."

Gabe ignored him, pretending the drywall was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. It didn’t work. William - god _damn,_ was that kid getting bold - kept pushing.

"Okay, well, what about before you met Pete?"

"What about it?"

"You can't have been doing this since the dawn of time. Didn't you ever have a family? Parents? Girlfriend?" He paused. "Boyfriend?"

Gabe tried to come up with an answer, he truly, honestly did. Once he caught William's eyes it was hopeless. His mind reeled back thirty years, to the image of another pair of warm brown eyes looking at him with that gentle kind of concern—

William bit his lip at Gabe's failure to answer. "I mean, how'd you even get involved in this? In the power brokering and...and, y'know, the drugs..."

"I don't want to talk about it."

William sighed and rested his chin in his hands, looking at Gabe. "You know, I don't think it would kill you to trust me a little."

"It's...really personal."

"Seriously?” William laughed. “I told you about my fucking eating disorder, dude, like not even my roommate—"

"I said I don't want to talk about it."

William went quiet. Gabe forced himself not to feel bad about it, not even a little. 

"We should get some sleep. We gotta head out early tomorrow if we wanna get to Pete's by nightfall."

"Okay,” William said softly.

Gabe, who absolutely didn’t feel bad, not at all, shut off the light.

*

_“You’re something,” Pete slurs as he falls back on the dirty motel bed. “You’re special, I’ll tell you that.” Gabe laughs, but he's not entirely sure this guy's just drunk anymore–_

_"I didn't pay for you to do this deal fucked up," the demon hisses, and Gabe shuts his eyes and tries not to to feel his broken arm pressing against the concrete, feeling like it's splintering through his skin—_

_He can’t do anything but watch as warm drops of red liquid fall from his nose, one by one, staining the pristine white of Pete’s bathroom tile. Pete pushes the door open. “I knew that was a lie,” he says. “Come here, let me look at you–”_

_Gabe collapses on the couch, head in his hands, his stomach feeling like it’s caving in on itself. “God, Andre, what am I gonna do?”_

_“Hey,” says Andre, “you can stay here as long as you need to, okay?”_

_“You- you sure?” Gabe chokes out, and in response Andre leans over to kiss him, but he can barely process it over the pounding in his head and the ache in his stomach; he hasn’t eaten in three days–_

_Andre Santos. 1957-1984._

_1984._

_1984._

_1984–_

*

Gabe sat bolt upright in bed, the washed-out details of the motel room slowly coming into focus. The orange lamplight making horizontal stripes on the wall, the sound of cars on the highway, William curled up on the other side of the bed. He exhaled slowly and reached for the pack of cigarettes on the bedside table, slipping out the door as quietly as he could.

The cool southwestern air cleared his head, but as he lit up he still felt uneasy. It wasn't like nightmares were particularly new to him, yet here he was, hands shaking from an invisible cold, subconsciously rubbing his arm where it had been broken all those years ago. Smoking out the images of things that he should've moved past by now. 

Those four stupid numbers carved into that stupid marble wouldn't leave his head. _1984._

He smoked his cigarette down to the end and threw it over the railing, his thoughts now swirling more than ever. He stepped back into the room and shut the door carefully behind him, standing there for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dark. 

"Gabe?" came a sleepy voice. 

Gabe swore quietly. "Yeah, sorry, William. Didn't mean to wake you."

"I was already awake. Is something wrong?"

"Nightmares. Just nightmares."

"Oh. I didn't know demons got nightmares."

"Yeah."

He paused. "You sound scared," he observed, his voice softer now. 

Gabe said nothing, noticing for the first time that he felt very warm. He pulled off his shirt before clambering back into bed, his back to William, thankful for the pitch blackness. 

"Y'know, I always used to tell my sister that nightmares happened when she was asleep cause they were too scared to face her during the day," William said. "That's how you know you're stronger than they are."

Another long pause. Gabe stared at the drywall. 

"Goodnight," William said, his voice faltering a little. 

Gabe sighed. "Goodnight, William."

*

The next morning dawned bright and warm.

Especially warm. Gabe’s breaths came slow and steady. The A/C unit in the window was off, and the room was silent save for the distant sounds of the highway. He was half out of the comforter, his arm resting on a mass of warmth, his bare chest pressed against a steady heat.

The warmth shifted, and Gabe wrapped his arm tighter around it.

"Gabe," came a soft but urgent voice, and Gabe responded with a groan. A sharp elbow to the ribs made his eyes fly open.

"What?" he said, sleep and irritation making his voice scratchy. 

It was only then that he realized that the warm thing he was clinging to was William.

He scrambled backwards, immediately awake, thanking Mother Nature profusely for the fact that his complexion hid his blush. "Fuck,” he said. “I am so, so sorry."

"It's no big deal," said William as he got out of bed, a small smile on his lips. "You've been doing that basically since you fell back asleep. I don't really mind. I figured it helped. It's just I really need to pee."

"Right," said Gabe, flopping back onto the bed, arms crossed over his face. "Be free."

The door to the bathroom closed. Gabe rolled over and buried his face in his pillow and groaned again.

_You've been doing that basically since you fell back asleep. Just fantastic, Saporta, just what you need. Hey, after we stop the Apocalypse, you wanna go out for coffee?_

The bathroom door opened again, and William stepped out, thoughtfully pulling his hair up. "I was thinking—you've been doing an awful lot of driving. You want me to take the last leg?"

Gabe sighed and closed his eyes. "Uh, no offense, kid, but the day I let a Chicagoan be responsible for my car will be the day they lay me down in my grave. Probably in that order, too."

"Well, do you at least want to sleep in for a little? You had kind of a rough night."

Gabe was already sitting up, keeping his eyes on the wall. "I'll just take a cold shower or something. I've had worse. I'll be fine."

William shrugged and went back to experimentally tying his hair up again. 

"And hey," said Gabe, still staring at the wall; he couldn't see William, but he knew his eyes were on him. "I don't need you to be my mom or whatever, alright?"

His tone was harsher than he'd meant it. William faltered and slowly let his hands fall. Gabe tried not to look at him as he got up and shut the bathroom door behind him. 

He was used to cold showers, but after all these years they were still second only to coffee in lighting a fire under his ass in the mornings. They were great for sobering up, too, of course, as was coffee, but those days were over. Gabe got the job done quickly, squirting some cheap hotel shampoo into his palm and working it through his curls while he hummed a Madonna song. 

He tried his best not to think about William. He shifted his fantasies from cuddling with him some more and brushing the hair out of his face to more realistic daydreams of saving the world and the entire human race from a satanic Apocalypse. Shaking his hair out, he sighed, turned off the water, and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist. 

Maybe he should go back out and apologize to the kid. Or maybe go and smoke another cigarette. 

He liked the second plan better. 

He looked in the mirror; he looked more exhausted than ever, rattled and pale, with dark circles under his eyes. His cheeks were starting to look a little sunken, never a good sign; he was getting too thin again. He needed a haircut, too, he thought as he turned to grab another towel to dry off his hair. 

"Gabriel."

Gabe didn't even have the strength to be surprised anymore. He turned back toward the mirror and saw the Source’s right-hand demon staring at him, arms folded across his chest. 

"Hey, Ryland," he said, wringing out his curls. "Nice of you to drop in. I wasn't doing something, like, intensely personal or anything."

Ryland remained expressionless, his dull yellow eyes cool. "The Source didn't send you on any official business in New Mexico."

"Well, this is my own thing. Gotta make a living somehow. You know, the hustle never stops."

"Somehow I fail to see how pushing coke across the border constitutes 'making a living.'"

"You're a real fuckin' charmer, you know that? I bet you're super fun at parties. Bet you make lots of friends."

"The Source has a job for you."

"So you didn't call me just to say hi?"

Ryland closed his eyes and let a breath of air hiss through his teeth. "Sometimes, I really wonder how you've managed to make it this far in life."

"I wonder that every day. Now—"

"Hey, Gabe, I was wondering—"

Gabe went into full panic mode as the bathroom door began to open, accompanied by William's voice, and he slammed it shut as casually as he could, silently praying that his charge would take the hint and stay quiet. 

"Who was that?" 

Gabe willed his heartbeat to slow down, forced himself to take normal breaths. "Some kid I fucked last night, okay? Seriously. Personal business."

Ryland shrugged. "Just curious."

"Well, don't be." Gabe eased off the door and turned around to put the towel he was holding back on the rack. "When's the job?"

"Oh, in about three days. Where are you going to be then?"

"Why do you need to ask?" Gabe said, still not looking at him. "You know you can trace me."

"Just tell me."

Gabe sighed. "California."

"Any particular reason?"

He spun to face Ryland again. "I'm just seeing Pete, okay? Step off."

"For Hell's sake, Gabriel," Ryland said mildly. "You'd think I was your mother. What's got you on edge?"

"The fact that I'm butt-ass naked and talking to a demon who's getting all up in my business at nine in the morning. I'll take care of the deal, alright?"

"Alright. Your funeral if you screw it up."

"Very funny. Now kindly fuck off."

Ryland rolled his eyes and blinked out of the mirror, and Gabe was staring at his own reflection once again. He sighed heavily. 

"I'm getting too old for this," he muttered, and opened the door. 

William was standing a few feet from it, looking stricken. "I'm so sorry—"

"Whatever. It happened. You didn't know. But we've gotta get to Pete's today." He turned and shed the towel and began pulling on his boxers and jeans. As he looked around for his shirt, he noticed William was still motionless, his face bright red. 

"What?"

"Nothing, I'm sorry. It's just, um—who was that?"

"One of my superiors," Gabe said, realizing William had probably heard Gabe's explanation of his presence. He located his shirt and pulled it over his head. "I had to lie to him about who you were, it was the first thing I could think of, okay? Don't be such a prude."

"Sorry." William's expression told Gabe he was wondering where the Gabe from yesterday went—the soft, relaxed Gabe, the one who'd let down his guard and laughed at his jokes and asked him about himself and listened to him talk about art. But the encounter with Ryland had all but made that side of him disappear. 

"Pack up your stuff, Hester Prynne. We've gotta get a move on."

*

Gabe dragged William with him while he checked out, paranoid again about leaving him alone, drumming his fingers on the counter and chugging a cup of truly awful black coffee while the transaction was completed. In the parking lot, as the engine of Gabe's ancient car sputtered to life, William said hesitantly, "Are you—are you sure you're okay to drive?"

"I will be, as soon as you open the glovebox and hand me the pill bottle that's in there."

William did as he was told without arguing. Gabe opened the bottle and tipped two of the little blue pills into his hand, dry swallowing them before shoving the bottle back into William's hands and putting the car in gear. 

Arizona was his least favorite part of the drive to Los Angeles. Everything looked the goddamn same, barren and arid and stretching on forever against a cloudless sky. Gabe smoked through half a pack of cigarettes and found his eyes drifting to the ever-faulty clock on the dashboard every few minutes. 

There came a point when he thought he could stand the silence no longer, but one glance over at William, who was staring pensively out the window, hair pulled up in a rubber band, made him decide to keep his mouth shut. 

After what felt like an eternity, William shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.

"Hey," he said. “So, um, about last night–"

Gabe’s hands tightened on the wheel. "What about it?”

William hesitated for a moment. Gabe heard him take a long breath. When he spoke, his voice was even and calm.

“I understand if you don’t wanna talk to me. It’s fine, whatever, you’re a demon, I’m just some random college student. But I’m putting a lot of trust in you. I fucking followed you out of my apartment on the night of what was supposed to be my twenty-first birthday party, right after you almost killed my roommate, no less, because I trusted you. And I’ve trusted you every minute since.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it, settling back in his seat. “I just think you owe me a little reciprocity at this point.”

Gabe didn’t speak for a long minute. William continued looking at his phone. The road rumbled beneath the Pontiac, dust rising in clouds outside the windows.

"Alright, look," Gabe said. "I'm sorry if I've been kind of...tense.”

William snorted. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“Don’t get smart with me, okay? I’m trying to apologize. It’s just...there's a lot at stake here, and that thing with Ryland really shook me up. Once we get to Pete's I'll be fine. And I’ll give you some answers, I swear.” He paused. "I just want to protect you."

William nodded. “I understand. It's okay.”

"And I just—I don't want to, y'know—"

"Don't want to what?"

Gabe sighed. "Nothing. Forget it. I'm sorry, okay?"

"Okay."

"Are we cool?"

"Yeah, we're cool."

"Cool. Can you get the time to Pete's house for me?"

"Yeah, sure," said William, looking back down at his phone. "What's the address?"

"Odin Drive. In the Hills."

"Um. Eight hours."

Gabe let out a long groan. "Fuck.”

William shrugged and pulled his knees up to his chest, shifting position in his seat. “Well, if you wanna give me some answers, I guess now’s the time to do it.”

Gabe sighed. “Okay, fine. What do you wanna know?”

“Well, for starters, you could tell me how this whole demon thing works?”

"Alright, but it doesn't exactly make for great conversation.” Gabe reached for his lighter. “Could you hand me another cigarette?”

William obliged, and Gabe lit it, rolling the window down to exhale a cloud of smoke.

"Okay. So. A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, demons were human. With human bodies and human hearts and human blood and human souls and all that. But most of us don't remember it too well." He let out a short, dry laugh. "At least, I know I sure as hell don't."

"Was it a long time ago?"

The corner of Gabe’s mouth twitched. “You can’t even imagine.”

William looked out at the mountains rising in the distance, bathed in a haze of red dust. “Did you, like, believe in a God before you, y’know…or is this all news?”

“Oh. Well, I mean, I’m Jewish.”

“You’re Jewish.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re a demon who works for Satan and has proof of the existence of the Christian conception of Hell and you’re Jewish.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that. But yeah, that’s basically the size of it.”

William nodded. “I guess that’s not any weirder than everything else I’ve heard in the past three days.”

"Anyway,” Gabe said, “to become a demon, you have to first be condemned to Hell. And for that to happen, you have to do one of two things: sell your soul, usually to a crossroads demon, or fuck up really, really bad."

"Which one did you do?" William winced, as if embarrassed with himself. "Sorry."

Gabe stared at the road stretching into the distance ahead of him, meeting a searing blue sky a million miles away. "I fucked up," he said. "Big time."

William was quiet for a moment. When he spoke his voice was soft, tentative. "What happens after that?" he asked.

"Well, the thing that makes people human is a soul. So a demon is what happens in the absence of a soul. And getting rid a soul is...hard." He paused. "They torture it out of you."

"You had that done to you?"

"So did Pete. It takes decades, sometimes centuries."

"I’m sorry.”

"Don't be. But yeah, that's why demons are, y’know. The way they are.”

William studied him for a moment. “You don’t seem anything at all like whatever was in Sisky on Thursday.”

Gabe laughed and blew some more smoke out the window. “Well, for starters, that’s because that wasn’t a very smart demon,” he said. "But on top of that, being a demon isn't as...final as we once thought it was, actually. There are things you can do to gain back your humanity, so to speak."

"Like what?"

"Being on earth for a long time. Interacting with human beings in a way that isn't, y’know, mindless slaughter." He paused. "Falling in love."

"Falling in love?"

Gabe nodded. "The most human thing you can do. It weakens a demon like nothing else can."

William was quiet again. Gabe threw the end of his cigarette out the window, rolled it up, and punched the radio button to fill the silence. The last notes of the Bruce Springsteen song that was playing faded out and were replaced by the familiar opening harmonies of Heaven Is a Place on Earth.

“Hey, Gabe–”

“Shut up,” Gabe said, cranking the volume dial. “I love this song.”

William grinned and leaned back in his seat as Gabe rolled the window back down. Gabe stuck his hand out the window, letting the wind blow through his curls and letting himself relax, just for a few minutes.

_They say in heaven, love comes first, we’ll make heaven a place on Earth…_

He was in the middle of belting out the second chorus when he glanced over to the passenger side and noticed that William was holding up his phone. He turned the volume down. “What are you doing?”

“Snapchatting,” said William innocently.

“You’re Snapchatting your road trip with a demon.”

“I’m surprised you even know what that is.”

“Shut up, of course I know what Snapchat is. That better not go on your story, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Too late, I’m posting it– shit.” William frowned at his phone. “You don’t have a thing I can plug my charger into, do you?”

“This car was built in 1967, querido,” Gabe said, and turned the music back up.

After Heaven Is a Place on Earth was over, the radio cut to some stupid Bananarama song, and Gabe turned it off once again. William was had his knees drawn to his chest again, drumming his fingers on the tops of his legs.

“What’s your favorite movie?” he said.

Gabe raised his eyebrows and turned to look at him. “What is this, the Newlywed Game?”

“My phone’s dead, dude. I’ve got nothing to do except talk to you for the next eight hours.”

“That’s a Greek tragedy.”

“It won’t be if you stop being an asshole and cooperate. What’s your favorite movie?”

"Are we going to do this all the way to California?"

"Unless you think of something better to do."

Gabe sighed. "Okay, fine. _The Goonies,_ then."

"No way."

"What?"

"I love that movie."

"Is it your favorite?"

"Okay, no, but it's definitely in the top ten. My favorite is probably, like... jeez, I don't know. Sisky makes me watch all these weird art films with him. I really like _In the Mood For Love,_ it's this Chinese film that's directed by Wong Kar-Wai, who's actually made a lot of really fascinating—" William suddenly cut himself off. "Sorry," he said. "There I go again."

"No, no, it's...fine." Gabe was only now beginning to realize that at some point, someone must have called William annoying, maybe even one of his friends—and for some reason that really pissed him off.

"Look," he said. "Don't apologize for talking about stuff you like, okay? I like listening to you."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

Gabe could feel William's smile from the passenger seat. "Thanks. That's really nice of you to say."

"Yeah, well. Doesn't mean I like you or anything."

"Yeah, okay," said William, settling back into his seat, but Gabe could tell he was still smiling. Glowing, almost. 

_God damn it, Saporta._

*

After several hours of fighting through Los Angeles traffic, Gabe keeping up a continuous stream of expletives alternately in English and Spanish, they at long last pulled into Pete's long, winding drive in the Hollywood Hills, which was so covered by trees that Gabe had to turn his brights on.

"Pete likes his privacy," he explained to a slightly bemused William. 

They left the car in the driveway and walked past two squat palm trees to Pete's front door, ornate but modern, made of tasteful dark wood. Gabe knocked on the door, the special knock that let Pete know it was him, and after a few moments heard the sound of the lock turning. 

The door swung inward, and there was Pete, all five foot seven of him, with newly bleached hair and a distressed Iron Maiden shirt and an infectious grin. Gabe barely had time to take him in, though, before Pete was pulling him into a tight hug, the tightest his supernaturally strong arms could muster. 

"Man, it is good to see you in one piece."

Gabe broke away, grinning back. "I always get the job done."

Pete's eyes drifted over to the twenty-one-year-old in the Death Cab t-shirt, and he lost interest in Gabe immediately. 

"So," he said. "You're the man of the hour."

William half-smiled. "Guess so."

"Anyone told you you're in a world of trouble, kid?"

"I've heard."

"Well, not to worry. This place is as safe as it gets. And when Gabe and I—" he punched Gabe lightly on the arm— "are on the case, you can rest easy. This’ll all be over before you can blink."

"Dream team number one."

"You’re the Scully to my Mulder, Saporta. Come inside, you two, sit down, you're making me uncomfortable. Shoes off, William, I just had this stupid carpet cleaned and God knows what's in Gabe's vehicle."

"I heard that," Gabe said as he sprawled out on the red leather couch in Pete's airy living room. William, looking just a little ill at ease, sat down on the edge of a chair against the far wall. 

"So," said Pete, closing the door behind him, "I'm sure it's been a long and tedious day of driving. Who's up for a drink?"

"I'll take an entire bottle of tequila," Gabe said, his voice muffled by the couch cushions. 

"I've learned my lesson there. I am not wasting my añejo on your ass. How 'bout a cocktail?"

"Fine. Make it strong."

"On it. William?"

William cleared his throat. "Um, I'm okay with water or whatever."

Pete shrugged. "Your call. Be right back."

As soon as Pete left the room, Gabe unearthed himself from the red leather of the couch cushions. "Dude, are you okay?"

"Yeah, it's just—I don't know, he seems really nice, there's just something kinda...unsettling about him."

"Yeah, demons'll do that to you."

William frowned. "But I've been with you for the past three days and I've been fine." He shook his head. "I don't know. There's something—different about you. I can't explain it, but you definitely don't feel like him."

"Okay, weirdo," said Gabe, pressing his face back down on the couch, but his stomach was sinking. 

Pete came back in balancing three glasses, two containing an artfully made Manhattan and ice water respectively, and a third containing an blue liquid that looked alarmingly like Windex.

"What is this?" Gabe asked as Pete handed him the glass. 

"My own invention. Don't ask what's in it. Goes down real easy, that's all you need to know."

"Nice. Salud."

"Salud," Pete responded, and they both took a long drink. Gabe's tasted like pineapple and lemon-lime soda with only the barest hint of a burn at the tail end. He took another gulp, silently thanking the universe for Pete's cocktail-making talents. 

"So," Pete said, sitting cross-legged in a velvet-upholstered armchair, "here's what's up. William's gonna be safe here for a few days, but we need to come up with a plan that has more permanent results—with fate on our side, hopefully we can take down the Source once and for all. I still haven't quite figured out how to manage that, but I'm close. Have you two heard from Patrick anytime recently?"

"He called me the other day," Gabe mentioned, remembering as he said it. "When I was getting gas. But I think it was an accident, ‘cause he wasn't there when I picked up."

"Weird. I should have never convinced him to get an iPhone. He had enough trouble with that stupid flip phone." Pete stretched and picked up his Manhattan, a third of which was gone already. "Well, we can try again tomorrow. But for tonight I think we all just need to celebrate the fact that we can finally breathe for a minute."

"Amen," said Gabe, raised his glass, and downed the rest of his drink. 

William looked at him interestedly. "Can demons get drunk the same way humans do?"

"Yeah, eventually," said Pete, laughing, from the other side of the room. "Ask this guy, he's seen me smashed enough times."

Gabe tried to shoot Pete a look, but he was busy with his drink. William looked put off for a moment but glanced back toward Gabe. 

"Yeah, I mean I guess I should have figured when you told me about the whole thing about the concert. You know, I gotta say, you two seem pretty normal for, like, servants of Hell or whatever.”

This time Pete did look up, and Gabe managed to catch his eye. They shared a look; Pete raised a questioning eyebrow, and Gabe nodded as imperceptibly as he could.

“I guess we are,” Pete said without breaking eye contact.

Gabe sighed. He wasn’t getting out of this one.

He turned to William. “Hey, Bill?”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you go put your stuff upstairs? The guest room’s all ready, right, Pete?”

“Yeah, yeah. You can take a shower too, if you want. That bathroom’s all yours.”

William looked surprised but relieved. "Oh, really? Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. There should be towels in the closet."

There was a long, pregnant silence as Pete kept his eyes fixed on the stairs, waiting. The second he heard the shower turn on, Pete folded his arms, his expression becoming one of a not-mad-just-disappointed dad at the dinner table, and rounded on Gabe.

"Dude. Seriously?"

Gabe groaned and fell back on the couch. "I know. I know, okay? I'll tell him sooner or later."

"You fuckin' better. This poor kid. Do you even know how to interact like a normal person anymore?"

"That's the thing. At first it was just easier to tell him... but then after awhile, I _had_ to." He paused, staring at the ceiling. The words had been swirling in his brain for days, but it was hard to admit them aloud to himself. 

“Pete, I think he likes me,” he said. “And I think I like him too."

Pete looked struck for a second, then gave himself a little shake and pressed on. "Alright, fine. So you two have the hots for each other. So what? We'll take down the Source and you'll be free of your contract, and then you can have all the beautiful nerdy college boy you want. Win-win."

Gabe snorted. "Don't be stupid. You think he’s actually gonna fall in love with me? You’ve seen me, right?" 

“Cut it out, dude. The whole self-deprecation thing is getting a little old.”

"You know it's true."

"Neither of us know dick about shit," Pete said. "But either way you have to tell him the truth."

"Come on, Pete, how can I? He'll hate the truth even more than he'll hate me for lying."

"Well, then, what’ve you got to lose?”

Gabe was quiet for a moment, listening to the tick of the grandfather clock against the wall, debating on whether he should say what he was thinking.

“Gabe? Come on, dude, you know it’s not fair to him to keep doing this-”

"I could ask the Source for him."

Pete stared. “You’re not serious."

Gabe sat up. "Oh, I'm not?"

Pete exhaled a long breath and leaned over, resting his forearms on his thighs. “I don’t know why I have to actually have this conversation with you,” he said quietly, “but you of all people know she doesn't cut fair deals. There’s no way she’d agree to it. She needs his blood."

"Does she need all of it?" Gabe muttered.

"Gabe, listen to yourself. You've known him for like, what, a week? And this is the _Apocalypse_ we're talking about here. Y'know, the destruction of all humanity?"

"So? What has humanity ever done for me?"

"Quit being emo.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Apocalypse aside, remember that thing called free will?"

"You'd do it if it was Patrick," Gabe said, and regretted the words a second later as Pete fell silent. 

"Sorry," he said. "That wasn't fair."

"No, it wasn't," Pete agreed. "Of course I'd do it, but I've always trusted you to have a little bit more sense than me." 

"I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying.” Gabe closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘God, this stupid kid has me out of my head."

Pete nodded. “I know. Believe me.” 

The grandfather clock struck ten, and Gabe slowly let himself sink back down into the couch. He heard Pete chuckle from the other side of the room.

“You are the very picture of self-pity sometimes, Saporta, you know that?”

“I think I’ve earned it at this point.”

Pete laughed again, then got up and walked over to the couch.

"Apocalypse first," he said, scooping up Gabe’s empty glass from the end table. "Your weird boner later. The world doesn't revolve around you, hot stuff."

"When has it ever?" Gabe muttered to himself as Pete got up to walk back toward the other room, rolling over to press his face into the couch cushions again.

There were a few clinking noises from the kitchen, and the sound of the tap running. Gabe stayed perfectly still and let himself wallow for a second more.

If it was going to be like this for the rest of his life, he wasn’t even sure he wanted his life back.

Pete had reappeared in the living room, holding a clean glass and a half-empty bottle of Bombay Sapphire. “You want another one of these?” he asked.

Gabe picked his head up enough to answer. “Yeah, sure, I guess–”

"Hey, uh, guys?" 

Both Gabe and Pete looked up in surprise to find William standing at the foot of the stairs, wearing the same jeans and a clean t-shirt, his long hair wet.

"Yeah, Bill, what's up?" Pete asked. 

"I changed my mind," William said. "About the alcohol thing."

Gabe and Pete shared a look. 

"That's the spirit," Pete said, grinning. "What can I get for you?"

"I don't know, just something that'll get me too drunk to care as fast as possible. And preferably something that won't make me wanna die while I'm drinking it."

"Coming right up. Hang tight." With that, Pete disappeared into the other room—literally disappeared, utilizing one of the few demonic powers he had left after so long on Earth. 

"Show-off," Gabe muttered, while William stared, speechless. 

"Do all your friends do that?"

Gabe laughed. "You get used to it."

William sat down beside him on the couch, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. "Is everything okay?"

"Of course, why?"

"You guys sounded kind of yelly."

Gabe looked at him, surprised. 

William shrugged. "I'm not stupid. Clearly you didn't want me to hear whatever it was you were saying, which I guess is fine, like, I respect that or whatever. So I didn't listen closely. But I heard how loud you guys were."

Gabe sighed. "Bill, I—"

“Hey, how does a Long Island Iced Tea sound?” Pete called from the other room.

William looked at Gabe for a moment longer, those eyes of his knowing and serious. _I deserve answers,_ he was saying. _After all we've been through, you owe me that much._

“That sounds fine, Pete,” he called back, not breaking eye contact.

After a few more ticks of the grandfather clock, Gabe looked away.


	5. Pete Wentz Never Met Jesus

_our backs tell stories no books have the spine to carry  
-rupi kaur_

 

V. PETE WENTZ NEVER MET JESUS

"And then," Pete said around another swallow of bourbon, "When I finally find Patrick he's with Jimi Hendrix. Jimi _fucking_ Hendrix. And he's like, oh, is that who this is? I was just showing him a picture of my cat. And lo and fucking behold, he and Jimi Hendrix are bonding over pictures of their cats while deeply stoned."

William laughed a little too loudly. Pete, true to his talents, had made his drink exceptionally strong and exceptionally delicious, and Gabe had elected not to mention the fact that William had never even been tipsy before as he watched the kid gulp it down like lemonade. He might have been concerned at this point, actually, but a couple more of those weird blue drinks of Pete's and he found himself not caring anymore.

William, at least, was looking happier and looser than Gabe had ever seen him; as far as Gabe could tell, he was one of those people who started acting like a really bubbly sorority girl when he got wasted. "He tells stories way better than you do," he said to Gabe, eyes sparkling.

"Hear that? I tell stories way better than you do. What'd he tell you?"

"He told me how you guys met."

Pete laughed. "Now that's a classic. Did he mention he was wearing a fishnet shirt?"

"Oh, Gabe, _no_ ," William said.

"It was the eighties," Gabe lamented. "I also failed to mention that a certain someone threw up in the back of my car."

Pete threw a pillow at him. Gabe batted it away.

"Careful," he said. "Don't damage the goods."

"Yeah, I'm more concerned about the stemware than you, your highness," Pete said. William giggled and leaned his head against Gabe.

Gabe suddenly felt very warm and somewhere between way too sober and not sober enough. Pete didn't seem to notice; he downed the last of his bourbon, got up, and stretched.

"I'm gonna go roll a joint," he said. "Y'all want?"

"Oh my god, yes." William jumped up from the couch—a little too quickly, it seemed, because he was immediately stumbling back into Gabe's arms. Pete’s grandfather clock struck three.

Gabe smiled down at him. "I think it's time for you to go to bed.”

"No, I wanna stay up and—" William swung his head around to look at Gabe and suddenly furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Everything is dizzy," he stated.

"Okay, pot is the last thing you need right now," Gabe said. "Come on, you've had a long week. You need your sleep."

They made their way up the stairs, William leaning on Gabe for support. At the top of the stairs, as they reached the darkened hallway, William spoke.

"Gabe?"

Gabe turned to look at him. "Yeah?"

"Why does the Source want me?" Those wide brown eyes stared into Gabe's, surprisingly steady, betraying the innocence he'd had before this whole ordeal. "What's so special about me?"

"I told you before. We really have no idea. We thought maybe you were born under a blue moon or something."

“Are you two stupid?” William squinted in the dark. “I was born on the eleventh. That’s not even possible.”

Gabe was struck, even through the haze of gin, suddenly feeling a little idiotic. He cleared his throat. "I don't know, then. Your age might have something to do with it, but obviously there are tons of other twenty-one-year-olds in the world. And I guess there's the fact that you've got virgin blood, but lots of people have that, too."

"How'd you know?" William muttered.

Gabe didn’t know what to make of that, so he pushed open the door to the guest room and flicked on the light. "Alright, kid. You gonna be okay?"

William sat on the bed and looked up at him. “I think so.”

“Alright, cool.” Gabe crossed his arms and uncrossed them again. “I’ll, uh, see you in the morning, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

Gabe pulled the door closed and stood there for a minute; he fervently hoped all the gin in his system was the reason his face was so hot. He glanced at the half-open door to Pete’s bedroom across the hall, debating crashing right then and there – he and Pete were way past that by now – but then his eyes drifted back to the light bleeding out from underneath the guest room door, and he sighed and headed down the stairs.

Pete was sitting at the kitchen table when he walked in, methodically twisting his grinder. He looked up at Gabe.

“Shut up,” Gabe said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.” Gabe retrieved a glass and held it under the Brita filter. “I’m gonna bring the kid some water.”

“I’ll be here.”

Gabe watched the water reach the top of the glass and turned the tap off. As he walked out of the room, he said, “Seriously, Wentz. Not a word.”

Pete held up his hands in mock surrender, and Gabe rolled his eyes and headed for the stairs.

When he reached the guest room, he saw that the light was still on. As carefully as he could, he turned the knob and eased the door open. “Bill?”

William was sitting cross-legged on the bed, shirtless, staring down at his phone. He glanced up in surprise. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Thought I’d bring you some water. So you don’t… y’know…” Gabe swallowed, suddenly forgetting what he was about to say. _Please, God, let this be the alcohol._

William smiled at him. “Thanks,” he said, and took the glass from Gabe. He swallowed a little and set the glass down on the nightstand.

Gabe’s face was burning again. “Okay. Well, I guess I’ll go now.”

"No, wait.” William cleared his throat. “Can you, um, stay here for a minute, actually? I feel kinda weird."

Gabe paused, halfway out the door already. "Like, gonna throw up weird?"

"No, no, not like that. Just weird."

"Alright." Gabe relaxed and walked over to join William on the bed. William put his phone down; they were both quiet for a moment.

"You know, I still kinda hate taking my shirt off," William said. "I don't even do it in front of Sisky. I do it to sleep, but I always put it back on before I get out of bed. I never even look in the mirror when I get up to pee or whatever."

"You shouldn't worry about it so much," Gabe said. "I know that's not exactly easy. But you really are one of the most stunning people I've ever met."

William didn’t respond. He reached up to twirl a strand of his hair between his fingers, his eyes fixed on the wall.

Finally, he said, "Gabe."

"What?"

He turned, his eyes serious. "You said the Source wants me because I'm a virgin?"

"Well, yeah, virgin blood is usually helpful in ritual sacrifice."

William bit his lip. "Then what if I wasn't a virgin anymore?"

"Wait, what do you– wait, are you- oh, God." Gabe closed his eyes, willing himself to ignore his quickening heartbeat, the heat rising in his hands and chest and face, the insistent thought of _he likes you, he likes you, he likes you_. "William, that's- that's not what virgin blood means. It just means blood that's never been used in a ritual before.”

William looked dumbfounded. His cheeks flushed slightly. “Oh.”

“Holy shit, dude,” Gabe said. “You’re a virgin?”

William shrugged, growing redder. "I thought you knew."

"Don’t take this in a weird way, but like...how? You look like a fucking Greek statue."

William raised his eyebrows. "I once wrote a fifteen-page paper about rococo architecture, Gabe.”

“And?”

“And the assignment asked for five to seven pages. I'm not exactly hookup material."

"Don't give me that bullshit. Dude, you are so fucking smart and funny and great to talk to, not to mention you're absolutely fucking beautiful—" Gabe's words were cut short by William leaning over and kissing him.

It was awkward, unpracticed, but ardent, William pressing his lips against Gabe's as hard as he could. Gabe raised a gentle hand to his jaw to get his head at a better angle, and he parted his lips ever so slightly, feeling his stomach flip as William let out a shaky breath–

A switched flipped inside his head, and then he was on the other end of the bed, and William was across from him, looking at him like a wounded puppy.

"William, fuck,” Gabe said. “We can't do this."

"Why not?"

"You're drunk, for one thing."

"This isn’t just a drunk thing. I've been thinking about this for a long time."

"There's just— there's a lot about me you don't understand."

"I understand that I like you a lot."

"William." Gabe stood. "We're not doing this. Go to sleep."

"Gabe—"

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Without waiting for a response, Gabe had turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

His lips still burned when his head hit the pillow.

*

Gabe woke early—five hours, he thought as he checked the time on his phone, not bad—and rolled out of bed. Pete's side was empty. He took a quick glance at his phone. No missed calls or texts from Patrick, like he'd hoped. Writing off his uneasiness in favor of Pete's very plausible explanation that Patrick just sucked at technology, he got up and dug around Pete's closet for the spare sweats and t-shirt he always kept at Pete's house. He slipped into them, yawning, glanced in the ornate full-length mirror on the opposite wall, flattened his hair, and stepped out into the hall.

As he made his way downstairs he couldn't help but notice that William's door was still closed. Another wave of the anxiety hit him like a punch in the gut.

He finally had his answer. But a whole lot of fucking good that did him. It’d been William's first time truly drinking; there was no way he was going to remember what happened. Even if he did, who was going to be the one to bring it up? Gabe could get an Olympic medal in avoiding that kind of shit, and William was a ball of nerves and a half. So it looked like their chances of romance blossoming were slim to none, even with the Apocalypse looming.

_Typical._

When he walked into the spacious modern kitchen, Pete was wearing Star Wars pajamas and a flannel bathrobe and flipping pancakes.

"Mornin'," he said without looking up. "Thought I heard you. Hope I didn't wake you up."

"Nah, you're good. Nice jammies. Why are you up so early?"

"Couldn't sleep. You know how it is."

"Insomniacs anonymous."

"Too right. You hungover?"

"Manageably. I'll be fine once I drink some juice or something."

"Well, I feel like shit, which is why I'm makin' these. Sit down." Pete turned and opened the refrigerator while Gabe sat down in one of the tall chairs by the kitchen island. He grabbed the carton of orange juice Pete slid across to him, unscrewed the cap, and took a long swallow.

"Dude! Use a glass."

"When did you become so anal?"

"Not all of us live out of our cars. Just do it."

"Okay, sorry, dad." Gabe got up and reached up into the cabinet above the microwave for a glass—well, not really reached, since nothing was higher than the second shelf. Since he was up anyway, he wandered into the pantry and rummaged around for some cereal.

"These are done," Pete said. "Do you want any?"

Gabe emerged holding a box of Frosted Flakes. "I'll stick with these."

Pete shrugged and turned off the burner without a word, which was code for concern. Gabe had just been planning on eating straight out of the box, but to placate Pete he got up and grabbed a bowl, some milk, and a spoon.

He was halfway through pouring the milk when he looked up and saw Pete staring at him, still silently worried. "What?"

"Gabe, man," Pete said softly, "you gotta eat something more than that."

"I just want some fucking Frosted Flakes, dude, don't psychoanalyze me."

"I know you haven't been eating, you're even skinner than the last time I saw you. You have to take better care of yourself."

"I literally just forget, okay? When you can't die you forget."

Pete crossed his arms and gave him one of those Pete looks that told him he'd accept no further discussion on the matter. "Do you want some pancakes or what?"

"Yeah, fine, okay."

As Pete stacked some pancakes on a plate for him, Gabe said, "And just for your information, I've eaten three square meals every damn day for three days straight."

"That's a nice change. Remind me to give William a pat on the back."

"It's not because of—okay, whatever."

Pete poured himself some coffee, opened the jar of Nutella that was sitting on the counter, and spooned a generous amount onto his pancakes. "Hey, can you text Patrick and tell him to get himself in front of a mirror when he wakes up?"

"Sure, but it's still only like eleven in St. Louis. He probably won't be up for hours."

"Yeah, I know. I just don't want to forget."

Gabe pulled out his phone and deftly typed out the requested text. Then he looked for a moment at the box of Frosted Flakes and the plate of pancakes in front of him. He sighed, picked up the box, and pushed his chair back from the table.

"Where do you keep the syrup?" he asked from inside the pantry as he put the box back in its place.

"Maple or agave?"

"Maple."

"Second shelf on the left. Grab the agave for me."

Gabe did so, and they drizzled syrup over their pancakes together.

Pete wasted no time in digging in, and as he finished pouring the syrup, Gabe's eternally fucked-up hunger response finally kicked in. He cut into his pancakes too and started eating.

“How’d last night go, by the way?” Pete asked.

Gabe choked on his pancakes and disguised it as a cough. “Fine,” he said. “Uneventful. I was just bringing him water.”

Pete spread some Nutella with his fork. “I’m sure you know how dumb it is to lie to professional liars.”

Gabe stared down at his plate. “I think I kinda owe him the truth now.”

Pete nodded. “The truth is a good place to start.” He pushed his chair back from the island and carried his plate to the sink. “But I think we should let him sleep for a couple hours first. With what he’s about to hear, he’s gonna need all the sobriety he can get.”

*

Late into the afternoon, feeling much better after taking a walk with Pete, Gabe climbed to the top of the stairs. He stood in the hallway for a moment, staring at the dark wood of the guest bedroom door, the reality of the previous night hitting him full force again. He took a deep breath and knocked softly. When there was no answer, he pushed the door open a crack.

"Hey, William, you okay?"

"I feel like death," came a hoarse voice.

Gabe stifled a grin in spite of himself. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah."

Gabe pushed the door open and found William curled up on the bed, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets and looking none too happy.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi yourself," Gabe said back. "You sleep okay?"

William pulled the covers over his face. "Drinking sucks."

"Yeah, we probably shouldn't have given you so much. You think you can handle coming downstairs and eating something?"

William inched the comforter down again and stared. "Are you joking? My stomach is threatening to kill me."

"It'll help, I promise. I'll bring you some water first, okay?"

"If you must," William said, and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow.

As Gabe started to leave, he mustered up his courage and turned back around.

"Hey, Bill?" he asked as casually as he could.

"What?" he said, his voice slightly muffled.

"Do you remember anything about last night at all?"

William lifted his head up, brow furrowed. "No. Why?"

"Just checking." Gabe was out of the room and starting down the stairs before William had time to say anything further. Once he got downstairs, he wandered into the kitchen, intending to ask for Pete's advice, only to find him missing.

"Pete?" he called.

"What?" came a voice from directly behind him. Gabe jumped back, his hand flying to the side where he usually kept his knife.

"Jesus," he said. "You've gotta stop doing that."

Pete didn't respond with the usual jab, an immediate red flag.

"I just called Patrick's landline," he said.

Gabe stared. "Dude, what? You know how dangerous that is."

"He didn't pick up. What if something's wrong?"

"He could be out getting groceries or some shit."

"Without his phone?"

"I don't know, maybe he lost it. You're seriously worrying way too much, and it's only putting him in danger."

Pete exhaled. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just having trouble believing we really pulled this off."

"I'm here, Bill's here, no one knows anything about anything. Patrick might be avoiding our calls to protect us, leave less of a trace. We're gonna be fine."

"I know, I know. God, I need a Klonopin or something. How is he, by the way?"

"William?—oh, uh, he'll be okay. He's got a killer headache. Do you have anything incredibly full of carbs in the house?"

Pete grinned. "Pizza time."

A few hours later, William was reluctantly sitting downstairs with a glass of water bigger than his head, and Pete had ordered two large pizzas, which took much longer than the usual thirty minutes to get to the house since the delivery guys could never find Pete's front door. As Gabe took a slice of veggie pizza for himself and bickered with Pete about which horror movie to watch on Netflix, he kept a careful eye on William; the kid seemed to be getting everything down okay. By the time they were halfway through the movie (which was hilarious, as all horror movies were to Gabe and Pete, since they'd seen things impossible to recreate on any screen), the combination of carbs, grease, and water had perked William up quite a bit. He even joked around with Pete the way he had with Gabe on the drive over, seeming much more at ease than he had the previous night.

When the movie was over, Pete lay back on the couch and looked at the other two with half-closed eyes.

"So what do you think? Yea or nay?"

"Their depiction of demons was completely unrealistic," Gabe said, taking a bite of crust. "That one looked like Darth Maul."

"You don't think I look like Darth Maul? Not even a little?"

"Not even close."

"Fuck you. William, what'd you think?"

"Um...I think Darth Maul is a lot scarier than you two."

Pete and Gabe both broke into laughter.

"Gabe, that's it! I need a double-ended lightsaber! Then humans would finally respect and fear me the way they should."

"You'd need more than a lightsaber, hermano. You'd need a fucking miracle."

Pete flipped him off, and Gabe grinned, feeling the last of the tension of last night melting from his muscles. Pete yawned.

"Okay, so who's up for round two? In which we get very very stoned and watch Silent Hill?"

"You can do that if you want, but I think William and I need a night off." That wasn't true, of course—Gabe would have given anything to be stoned at the moment, but he didn't want to make William feel embarrassed or left out. William gave him a quick, grateful smile.

"Okay, fine, I guess I'll go be a useless pothead by myself." Pete got up. "Be right back."

"Actually," said Gabe, deciding as he said it, "William, you wanna come take a walk with me? I need a smoke and I don't think you want to be in a house full of pot fumes."

"Sounds good," said William, standing. "I could use some fresh air. My head still hurts like a bitch."

Pete caught his eye, raising his eyebrows, and Gabe nodded.

Gabe stood up too, and together he and William made their way to the kitchen and through the sliding glass doors that led to Pete's sprawling Gatsby-esque backyard. William slid the door carefully shut behind them, leaving them with nothing but the sounds of the crickets, as Gabe shoved his hands in his pockets and began down the winding gravel path that led through the garden.

William ran to catch up with him. "Hey," he said, falling into step beside Gabe. "I thought I saw your cigarettes on the kitchen counter."

Gabe inwardly swore. "I, uh, didn't actually come out here 'cause I needed a smoke," he confessed. "I wanted to take a walk because I...need to talk to you about some stuff."

William closed his eyes, looking pained. "Oh, God, is this about last night? I said something last night, didn't I?"

"In a...manner of speaking," Gabe said. "Really, it was before you'd had anything to drink."

"Oh?" William said. They'd arrived at a stone bench nestled in some honeysuckle, and Gabe stopped.

"You might wanna sit down for this."

William did so, looking a little bemused. Gabe popped the joints in his hands one by one, wishing desperately now that he had a cigarette to keep them busy. He settled for sticking them in his pockets as he paced, trying to figure out where to start.

"So, last night you said I had a...different energy than Pete did."

"Yeah. I mean, I guess."

"There's a reason for that."

"I mean, I was just really tired. And I've been with you for like a week, so I've gotten comfortable around you. It was just weird, I don't know."

"You were right, though."

"About what?"

Gabe stopped and looked at William. _Now or never, Saporta._ "Look, I…" He took a deep breath. "I haven't been telling you the truth."

"I'm sorry, I... what are you saying? What, is there, like, not an Apocalypse and you just kidnapped me to like, tattoo a giant snake on my face and sell me to a Russian circus?"

"I haven't been telling you the truth about me, smartass." Gabe rolled his tongue around in his mouth, not sure how to approach what he was about to say. "I'm… not who you think I am."

William looked unfazed. "Is this the part where you tell me you're my father?"

"William, come on. Listen to me. Okay?"

"Okay, okay," said William, but he looked like he still didn't know whether to take Gabe completely seriously. "What's this big secret you've been keeping?"

"I think you already know, and you just don't know that you do."

"I really don't."

"You're smart. Think about it. How come I'm carrying all these demonic powers but I can't do jack shit with them? How come I have to have that stupid knife on me all the time? How come I have nightmares? How come I haven’t told you anything about my life?"

William was quiet for a moment, his eyes contemplative. When he said it, it was almost serene.

"You're not a demon, are you?"

It was almost a relief to hear those words; Gabe felt like a huge stone was being lifted off of his chest. "I'm not a demon, no."

William nodded slowly. "So what are you then?"

"I'm human,” Gabe said. “Just like you."

William frowned. "No way. You can't be. If you met Pete in ‘88 like you said that would make you…you’d have to be… ”

“Let me finish.” Gabe sat down next to him. "I did meet Pete in ‘88," he said quietly. "That wasn’t a lie. But what I didn't tell you was that at the time I was disowned, homeless, starving, drug-addicted, and fighting a losing battle with a terminal disease."

"With a– what disease?”

“It was the eighties and I was a gay drug addict. Wanna guess, college kid?”

William furrowed his brow in confusion for a moment before his eyes widened. “Oh.”

"Yeah." Gabe cleared his throat. “My– my boyfriend at the time, he was my dealer too– I got it from him. He died in ‘84. I’d been on my own for four years when Pete met me.”

"I'm… so sorry."

"Pete felt my energy," Gabe continued softly. "He felt what I could do. And he decided to make me an offer."

"I don't understand."

Gabe sighed and gazed out at the yard. "Very few humans,” he said, “can withstand the physical strain of holding one demonic power, let alone three or four at a time. But there are some who can, and for whatever reason, I'm one of them. The Source thought I might be a valuable resource to pull through high-profile deals on Earth—I'm inconspicuous, I'm on my home turf, I don't need a host, and I'm much less likely to go on murderous rampages than your average demon is. She told me that if I offered my life in service to her, she could make everything go away."

"So you took the offer?" William said, almost timidly.

Gabe nodded. "I did. I was twenty-seven and not ready to die yet. I saw it as my only way out."

"But… okay, wait, I still don’t get it. If you were twenty-seven in 1988…”

"That's where this gets interesting. See, that's a surprise perk of the job: I don’t age. She's gotta keep me young so I can collect demonic powers without, like, breaking my hip or whatever."

"But…how can you give your life in service of her if you're never going to get any older?"

Gabe gave him a wry smile. "Now you're catching on."

"You don't mean—"

"I have to do this forever? Absolutely."

William shook his head. "No. She can't have done that to you—"

"She's the devil, William. Cutting fair deals isn't exactly her area.” He looked back out at the yard and laughed bitterly. “The irony is, I made that deal because I was afraid to die, and now I can’t. I've tried all of it. Can't OD, can't starve, if I bleed out I'll just come back again. I've been twenty-seven for more than twenty years."

"Why didn't you tell me before?" William asked, his voice soft and solemn.

"It was… easier. For me. If you were scared of me."

“How come?”

"Bill, you’ve gotta realize that practically everyone I've ever known is dead. And even if I make new connections with new people...they'll just keep getting older and older, and I'll be stuck like this forever. I can't afford to get close to anyone." He sighed. "But it didn't work on you. You got close to me anyway. Saw past the sarcasm and the selfishness and the whole stupid devil-may-care thing and—and you're like, just the most genuine person I've ever met and I—I just haven't felt this much like myself in a really long time."

"Me neither," said William.

Gabe's heart beat faster, and he willed himself to stay calm. "And while I'd really like to have this conversation right now, we have an Apocalypse to take care of. So I think it might be best if we head on inside and save it for later."

He stood and began to walk back towards the house, but William didn’t move.

"Gabe, wait—"

Gabe stopped in his tracks, trying to bring himself to look at William; he couldn't. When he spoke his voice cracked. "Please don't make this harder than it has to be."

He felt William's eyes on him for a long moment before he heard him stand.

"I'm really sorry we had to meet like this," he said, so softly Gabe thought he might be imagining it.

Gabe nodded as he started walking again. "Me too."

*

Gabe really did go out to have a smoke after that, and by the time he made it back inside William had gone to bed. He sat in the living room, staring at the neoclassical art on the walls while Pete packed another bowl.

"I told him,” he said. “I told him everything.”

Pete stopped what he was doing and looked up at him. "I'm really proud of you," he said.

"Thanks."

Pete went back to his weed, concentrating intensely for a second before looking up once again. "This does prove something," he said.

"What?"

"Well, how long did it take to get you to open up to me? Like, five years? And you've known this kid for, what, a week? You must really like him."

"Oh, fuck off."

Pete shrugged, put his pipe in his mouth, and picked up his lighter, then paused, thought a moment, and gently set both down on the coffee table.

"Gabe, I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? About what?"

"I'm sorry I got you into this mess." His voice was low, serious. "I regret it every day."

"Oh.” Gabe looked back down at his phone. “Well, hey, it's not your fault. I should have known better than to make a deal with the devil."

"Y’know, for what it’s worth,” Pete said, “I’m really glad I met you.”

Gabe avoided his eyes. They let a moment pass before Gabe said, "Can you get me a Scotch?"

Pete rolled his eyes. "You're so good at proving my points."

"Oh, come on, I'm bound in eternal servitude to Satan. The least you could do is give me free liquor once in awhile."

"Alright, alright. I can't wait until you can't use that excuse anymore." Pete got up and wandered over to the liquor cabinet, where he kept a few old and expensive bottles of Scotch. Outside, it began to rain, sounding much more insistent than the soft desert rain that sometimes fell on Los Angeles. Gabe's thoughts drifted back to William—whether he was asleep yet. If he was awake, what he was thinking about, and if he was asleep, what was happening in his dreams.

The grandfather clock ticked steadily, punctuating the rain on the roof, and from the other room, Gabe heard the sound of liquid splashing, glass clinking against glass. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

He began to let out a long breath, only to be interrupted by the sound of someone pounding on the front door.

Gabe’s eyes flew open again. Pete stood frozen in the middle of the living room, glass of Scotch in hand.

"Did you order another pizza?" Gabe asked.

"Not that I'm aware of," Pete said.

Another insistent knock echoed through the foyer. Pete slowly set down the glass.

"Get your knife ready," he said, and Gabe reached for his holster as Pete moved toward the door. Taking a deep breath, he swung it open.

Standing on his doorstep was Travie McCoy, his long hair dripping onto the mat.

"Travie," said Pete on a sigh of relief, but then he faltered; Gabe knew they were both seeing the same thing. Travie was wearing only a Saints sweatshirt and jeans and work boots, and all his usual rings and necklaces were missing save for the clay marble he always wore around his neck. Instead of his characteristic grin, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

"Dude, what’s wrong?” Pete asked, ushering him in and closing the door against the rain.

Travie shook himself. He was out of breath, as if he’d just run a marathon. "I took the first flight here."

“Christ, Travie, what in Hell’s name is going on? You haven’t left New Orleans in years.”

“Phone call woulda been too dangerous. I had to warn you."

"Warn us?" Pete started to ask, but Travie's knees were giving way. Gabe leapt up and ran to catch him as he went down, helping him into the armchair closest to the door.

"Travie, holy shit, are you okay?"

"I just been up since last night—but that's not important right now, what's important is, you gotta get out of here soon as you can—"

"Whoa, hey, hey, slow down. Can you just tell us what’s going on?"

"The Source," he breathed finally, and a chill ran down Gabe's spine, the familiar terror that he still couldn’t shake after all these years.

Travie closed his eyes. "She knows. She knows everything."

The air seemed to have been sucked out of the room; the only thing Gabe was aware of was his heart pounding, fast as a rabbit’s. Pete shook his head, clinging to the arm of the chair for support. "No. No—no, that's impossible, how could she know–"

"Somebody tipped her off," Travie said, and the image of the kid at the gas station flashed in Gabe's mind's eye. "She tortured everybody with a connection until they told her—and then she traced you, Gabe, she traced you and the kid to—to Patrick's house."

Gabe's blood turned to ice; he opened his mouth, but found he couldn't speak. He looked at Pete, knowing they were both thinking the same thing.

"Is—did Patrick—" Pete faltered, looking at Travie. His voice was almost pleading.

"He tried to fight," Travie said. The words were hoarse, broken. "You know how good he is. But he just– he’s just one guy and, and he’s never been too good at shit like this, and this is the Source we're talking about, and—" his eyes fell on Pete. "I'm sorry. God, I’m so, so sorry."

Gabe got his muscles working again in time to catch Pete as he staggered backward. He helped him into a chair. Neither of them spoke. Pete's stared at the wall with unfocused eyes.

The antique grandfather clock in the living room struck twelve.

"Pete," Travie said uncertainly.

"Gabe, go get the kid," Pete managed. He was still not looking at either of them. "Travie's right. We have to go now."


	6. And the Devil Makes Three

_you have to love. you have to feel. it is the reason you are here on earth. you are here to risk your heart. _  
_-louise erdrich_

 

VI. AND THE DEVIL MAKES THREE

Pete paced across the hardwood, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "You think you can make us untraceable?" he shot at Travie.

Travie picked up Gabe’s forgotten glass of Scotch and took a swallow, then shook his head. "I don’t know. It'll take a minute we don't have. I can't do it the way Patrick can– the way Patrick could, I mean."

"Well, we're gonna have to have it if we plan on getting anywhere at all. You need blood?"

"Demon blood would do the trick, yeah– or virgin blood, but I don't think we got any, so if you wanna roll up your sleeves–”

Pete was already doing so, and Gabe was halfway through retrieving his knife when he froze. "Pete," he said. "That's it."

"What?"

"Virgin blood. William's got virgin blood, that's why she wants him—"

"—so if we use him in a ritual," Pete finished, "he'll be useless to the Source."

Gabe looked at Travie, his heart racing. "Travie, you're the expert on blood magic. What do you think?"

Travie shook his head. "There's something y'all should know about William."

"What about me?" came a voice from the stairs. They all turned to see William standing on the bottom step, gripping the railing uncertainly.

"This him?" Travie asked, taking in William's bedhead, bare feet, and Wilco tour t-shirt.

"Yeah, this is him," Gabe said. "Travie, William. William, Travie McCoy, reigning Voodoo King of New Orleans."

"You raised Patrick," William said.

Travie frowned. “How’d you know?”

“He told me.” William bit his lip. “Is he really…”

“Believe me, child, none of us want to believe it either.” Travie threw back more Scotch, grimaced, and turned to Gabe. “Listen– did Patrick try to call you anytime in the past few days?”

"Yeah," Gabe said, realizing it as he said it. "Two days ago, right after sunset. But he wasn't on the other end. I thought it was weird, but..."

Travie nodded. “I figured as much. S’why I came straight here. If I’d called you the Source might’ve intercepted. And Patrick and I were onto something pretty goddamn huge. It's all Biblical shit, so I'm not too clear on it, but from what I gather—William's the last living descendent of these half-human, half-angel things. Don’t remember what they're called, but they were s’posed to all be gone after the Flood–”

"Nephilim," Pete said in a half-whisper.

William’s knuckles turned white where he gripped the railing. "No way. Not me."

"It does make sense—"

"Nephilim. As in, like, me. Remember me? William Beckett, art enthusiast and broke, virgin loser college student? That's fucking impossible."

"Someone wanna fill me in?" Gabe cut in.

William turned to look at him, speaking quickly, like he was reading from a textbook. "The nephilim were a race of half-human, half-angel beings," he said, "products of the angels' marriages to humans. All-powerful and otherworldly and terrifying. Kind of like Biblical Titans. God flooded the earth partly to get rid of them."

"But also," Pete added, "one of the purest sources of power in the universe. Anyone with that kind of celestial junk in them would make for what would amount to essentially the world's best blood sacrifice. Understandably, though, we thought they all died out—"

"—But as fate would have it," Travie finished, "we got the last one standing in Pete Wentz's living room."

The room went quiet. Pete, Gabe, and Travie all stared at the twenty-one-year-old in the center of the room, who looked paler than ever.

"What are you all looking at me for?" William said. "You think I'm gonna start unleashing the power of Heaven as we speak or something?"

Travie tipped the last of the Scotch into his mouth. "Couldn’t hurt," he said grimly.

William collapsed on the stairs, his head in his hands. While Pete and Travie quietly went over the details of the untraceability spell, Gabe sat down next to him and put an arm around him.

"You didn't tell me I was gonna have to do anything!" William said, his voice hitching. "I've gone my whole life without knowing about any of this stuff and now I'm supposed to save the world?"

"Shh," Gabe said, his hand on William's back. "No one expects that from you. We're just here to protect you. You can leave the world-saving to us. We'll figure it out, okay?"

William looked up at him with tears in his eyes. "But what if we don't?"

Gabe moved to crouch down in front of William so that he could look him directly in the eyes. Against his better judgment, he took his hand.

“I made up my mind a long time ago,” he said, “that you were going to make it out of this alive. And I don’t intend to go back on that.” He brushed his thumb over William’s hand, not breaking his gaze. “Can you trust me?”

"It's my fault Patrick's dead, isn't it?" William said in a small voice.

Gabe's chest grew tight. "It's no one's fault but the Source's. Patrick lived a good, long life. He helped so many people. He wouldn't want you to blame yourself."

William let his head fall, his forehead coming to rest on his knees. "I didn't ask for any of this," he gasped. Gabe clutched his hand, his pulse hammering in his ears, using his last shreds of willpower to keep himself from just leaning in and kissing him—

"Gabe, we're ready," Pete said, and Gabe turned to look. Pete was pressing a bloodstained towel to his left arm, and Travie stood to the side, holding a bowl that was now brimming with Pete’s blood.

"You first," Travie said. Gabe nodded and was beginning to stand when the sound of splintering wood rang through the house like a gunshot.

They all froze.

"Goddamn," Travie whispered. "I was too late."

William immediately stood, drawing close to Gabe. "What's going on?"

"Get behind me," Gabe said, and William didn't argue.

There was another loud crack, and the door shuddered again, the dark wood fracturing.

William grabbed for Gabe's hand again. With a deafening groan, the front door flew off its hinges and smashed against the wall at the far side of the living room.

Standing in the doorway was a woman, tall and pale, a haze of drywall dust settling around her. She smoothed her dark bangs, the red glow slowly fading from her eyes.

"Victoria," Pete said coolly.

If she was bothered by Pete using her name, she didn't show it. Instead, she turned her gaze to Gabe and William, standing still as prey by the stairs.

Her eyes met Gabe’s. He swallowed the terror that set in and forced himself to stare back.

William was not so well-practiced. Gabe felt the hand he held shaking.

The corner of her mouth raised in a slight smile that sent ice down Gabe's spine, and her eyes snapped to Travie.

"Travie,” she said. “It’s been too long. It was kind of you to warn these two.”

Travie swallowed. "Not fast enough."

"Not fast enough," she agreed, and flicked her wrist.

There was a nauseating snap. The bowl clattered against the floor, Pete’s blood spilling across the hardwood, and Travie crumpled to the ground with a broken neck.

William shrank back in horror, clutching at Gabe’s hand so hard it ached. Gabe closed his eyes and fought back the urge to vomit.

Victoria looked around her and laughed. "All this for humanity?” She stepped carefully over Travie’s body, skirting the blood on the floor. The heels of her boots echoed on the hardwood as she walked toward Pete. “I didn’t think it was possible for a demon to care this much.” Her eyes glinted red again as she looked at him. “At least, the excuse for a demon you are.”

Pete forced his eyes away from Travie's body, his face hard. “You could never hope to understand.”

"What's there to understand?” She was pacing slowly now, running her fingers along the wall. “I knew he–” and her eyes flickered to Gabe, the venom in her tone palpable– “was bad for you from the day we made the deal. It amazes me, though, it really does– to think all it took was one pathetic little addict to make you stray. Hope you’re not too attached to him. He’s going to be preoccupied for the next few decades.” Gabe felt rather than saw her smile, felt the change in the air that made his stomach clench. “Or however long it takes to break him.”

“You need me and you know it,” Gabe shot, his throat dry.

She laughed again. “You’ve outrun your usefulness. I’ve put up with you for twenty-five years too long. Believe me, it’s going to give me great pleasure to rip the humanity from your soul piece by piece.” Her voice echoed against the stillness of Pete’s foyer, taunting, almost playful. “Maybe I’ll even get Peter here to do it before I execute him, since he seems to owe you so much.”

"He taught me there are things more important than staying loyal to the underworld I crawled out of," Pete spat.

Victoria paused, her fingers resting on the crown molding.

“But it wasn’t just him, was it?" she said softly. "It was that warlock."

For once, Pete kept his mouth shut.

"You wanted to save him?" Victoria said.

"So he could save innocents," Pete said under his breath. Victoria turned and smiled at him, and Gabe felt the knot in his stomach grow tighter. She walked toward Pete until she was inches from his face, each step deliberate.

"He died very bravely, you'll be happy to hear," she said. "Fought until the very last second. Stood up remarkably well under torture. I didn’t think he had it in him."

"Stop," said Pete quietly.

"But eventually," Victoria continued, ignoring him, "even the strongest of us reach our breaking point." Her gaze landed on William, and she smiled again, a quiet, triumphant thing. "So here I am, thanks to him. I know everything."

Pete's fists clenched, and he turned his eyes on her—eyes that were now burning their true color, a deep orange.

"He was stronger than you will _ever_ be," he snarled.

Victoria kept her eyes fixed on William and shot her arm out. Pete flew across the room, slamming against the opposite wall. A photograph fell off the mantel and shattered as he dropped to the ground, dazed.

"Stay behind me," Gabe murmured to William. His hand ached from how tightly William clung to it. He knew it was useless, knew they were finished, but couldn’t stop himself from saying it again. "Just stay behind me."

The Source's mouth twitched ever so slightly. She flicked her wrist.

Hot pain knifed through Gabe’s chest, accompanied by a loud splintering sound. It took him a stunned moment to realize the noise was coming from him. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath, and he choked when another wave of pain surged through him, so sharp and immediate his vision blurred.

He stayed there, his arms shaking with the effort of supporting him, each breath hurting more than the last. “William,” he managed, his voice ragged.

The last thing he saw before his vision went black was William's terrified face.

 

 

*

"Gabe?"

Gabe’s eyes drifted open, and he found himself staring at the living room ceiling. It was bright out. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, but a throb in his chest stopped him. Pete put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, pushing him back down onto the couch.

"Hey, no, relax. Just take it easy. Breathe slow. She broke some of your ribs."

Gabe glanced at the sunlight streaming through the hole where Pete’s front door had been. "How long have I been out?"

"Most of the night. You're probably all healed up by now, but I thought it would be best to leave you."

"William—"

"William's gone, yeah." Pete's voice was tight. "Still alive, judging by the fact that there’s no Apocalypse, but gone. She's probably taken him to Hell by now."

"And– and Travie—?"

"I...brought his body to my room," Pete said, his words wavering for the first time. "Laid him out on the bed. I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't just...leave him there."

"Fuck." Gabe's breath hitched, and pain shot through him again. "Fuck, Pete, we're done, aren't we?"

Pete didn’t answer. Gabe held back a sob at the expense of his ribs, feeling tears sting at the corners of his eyes anyway. The one innocent he couldn't save, the one he actually cared about…

"We did the best we could," Pete said finally. "But it's gonna take a miracle now."

Gabe kept quiet, for fear of his voice breaking. Pete ran a hand through his hair, staring up at the ceiling. For the first time in all the years Gabe had known him, he looked a thousand years old.

"I'm sorry," Gabe managed.

"I'm sorry," Pete said, without moving. "For everything."

Another moment hung heavy in the air between them, then Pete sighed. "I guess I better make some calls about Travie," he said. Gabe nodded and laid back on the couch, closing his eyes. He heard Pete’s footsteps fading away into the other room.

What was going to happen to him? It was something he hadn’t really considered yet. He’d be the only human - well, the only thing resembling human - left after the Apocalypse. That part was almost funny. It was definitely the last thing he would have guessed about his life twenty years ago, when he was sitting there in a motel room making lines of cheap coke with his driver’s license and listening to a drunk man ramble on about demons.

Anyway, he wouldn’t be human for much longer, not once Victoria got his hands on him. That had been her ultimate threat for years, turning him into a demon; now, the thought was almost comforting.

It wouldn’t take long. He didn’t have much left in the way of humanity. And when that was finally gone, maybe he’d stop feeling once and for all.

Pete was on the phone in the other room, keeping up a quiet, steady stream of talk, spinning an elaborate lie. Gabe let himself stop thinking and just let the sounds of the world that had precious few hours to live drift in from the outside. The late winter wind rustling the leaves of the palm trees by the front porch; the high, thin call of a bird. In the distance, almost inaudible, a car horn. The steady crunch of footsteps on gravel.

Gabe frowned and opened his eyes again. That wasn’t right.

A soft, polite cough sounded from the doorway, followed by a light knock on what was left of the doorframe. “Gabe?”

Gabe carefully pushed himself up again, wincing with the movement, and turned to the door.

Standing at the threshold was Patrick, looking disheveled and exhausted but very much alive.

Gabe hoisted himself off the couch, the pain in his chest entirely forgotten about. “Please, please tell me I’m not hallucinating.”

“Gabe? Who are you–” Pete stopped in his tracks as he stepped into the room and caught sight of the man at the door. His cell phone dropped from his hand and clattered to the ground.

Patrick gave him a weak smile. “You didn’t think they could kill me that easy, did you?”

Pete stood there for a moment more, then strode forward, wrapped his arms around Patrick’s neck, pulled him forward, and kissed him.

Something about it was incredibly intimate; Gabe almost felt like he should look away. Then again, there had never been a kiss like it before and never would be again. It was full of a thousand things they’d never gotten the chance to say to each other, decades of tension being released right in the middle of the living room.

They broke apart, and Patrick smiled again, his face red. “So that’s how it is, huh?”

Pete pulled him close again and buried his head in his shoulder. “I missed you so fucking much, you stupid jackass.”

Gabe broke into a grin, and he opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Patrick had pulled away from Pete, his face falling into an uneasy frown. “Where’s Travie?”

Neither Pete nor Gabe answered him. Patrick’s voice rose. “Guys, where’s Travie? I know he was here, I can feel his energy, but it’s– something’s off, it’s old, it’s– what happened?”

“He tried to warn us,” Pete said softly. “But then the Source showed up…”

“Oh, no. Oh, God. Oh, no–”

“Patrick–”

But Patrick was already halfway up the stairs, Pete one step behind him. Gabe heard the door to Pete’s bedroom swing open, then the distinct sound of knees collapsing to the floor. He ran to the stairs and climbed up the first few steps; through the open door he saw Pete crouching to put an arm around Patrick’s shaking shoulders.

Unable to stomach it, he went outside for a smoke.

 

 

*

_The darkness was close, heavy, pressing in on all sides. Dim firelight flickered on the walls; it had no visible source. The air reeked of something overpowering and ancient. Copper and rust._

_In the center of the room, two demons gripped a terrified William by the arms. In front of him stood the Source, the flames reflected in the deep crimson of her eyes. William’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his own eyes darting from from the seal chiseled into the stone floor to the glistening knife in the Source's hand._

_“Sanguinem de Nephilim, sanctiores Edenis, scindet in duas partes mundi.”_

_There was a quick flash of silver at William's throat, and a flood of scarlet poured from his neck, soaked his shirt, splashed onto the seal below. Nephilim blood, archaic and holy. William choked, his brown eyes wide and desperate, as the Source smiled—_

Gabe woke up, heart pounding, in a chair in Pete’s kitchen. Panicked, he glanced toward the window—night had fallen already. Pete and Patrick sat at the table, reading by the light of the chandelier. Patrick was talking quietly while Pete smoked a cigarette over an ashtray full of the discarded ends of four more.

“See, the full isn't until tomorrow, that’s probably why she’s waiting - she doesn’t want to take any chances–”

"Why the hell did you guys let me fall asleep?" Gabe demanded, embarrassed at the pitch of his voice. He hadn't sounded scared to himself since before he could remember.

Patrick looked up from the book and pushed his glasses up his nose. “You just sustained a serious injury. And you’ve hardly slept in two days.”

"Yeah, so? I've lost sleep over things a lot more fucking trivial than this. I need to be ready."

"You won't be if you haven't taken care of yourself."

"It's not like I'm new at this, Patrick. Wentz, can you give me one of those? Have you guys found anything?"

Pete and Patrick exchanged a look, one of those cryptic looks that Gabe couldn't stand. Patrick nodded more hesitantly than Gabe would have liked.

"We...did find something. But it's...well…”

“Well what?”

“I don’t know how we’re going to get down there in the first place, given that you two are the most hated people in Hell right now, and I’m hesitant to use my powers since the Source still thinks I’m dead.”

“We’ll find a way.”

“Maybe we will. But even if we do…” Patrick bit his lip, and he and Pete shared another look.

“For fuck’s sake, would you just tell me?”

Pete ashed his cigarette and stared down at the table. Patrick looked back at Gabe. “See, the spell to start the Apocalypse requires Nephilim blood,” he said. “But what we didn’t know is that the spell to end it – and take down the Source – requires Nephilim blood too.”

Gabe felt his throat close up. Patrick pushed his glasses up his nose again.

“Gabe, I really think you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that William might not make it."

Gabe was quiet. Pete and Patrick stared at him. He swallowed against the knot in his throat.

"Travie's dead,” he said. “Everyone I've ever known is dead except for you two. I think I can handle one more."

Patrick flinched at the mention of Travie and went back to his book. Pete wordlessly got out his pack of Reds and handed one to Gabe.

 _Bullshit,_ the set of his mouth said.

Gabe ignored him and stuck the cigarette between his lips.

 

 

*

The Los Angeles dust settled into the fabric of Gabe’s sneakers as he scraped at it with his toe. He was out under the guise of getting some air, far enough away that Patrick couldn’t feel him. He glanced around. No witnesses in sight. He’d deliberately chosen a crossroads buried deep in the Hills, where the lush greenery that only the rich could afford to force gave way to the desert.

He placed the wooden box in the hole in the ground and swept the dirt over it. Then he lit a cigarette and waited.

It wasn’t long; he felt the change in the air within seconds, the surge of demonic energy that made his ears ring for a few moments. He heard a long-suffering sigh behind him.

“You again, huh?” came a voice from the other side of the road, and Gabe turned to see two men staring at him with their arms folded - brown-haired, wearing jeans and flannels, and altogether quite normal-looking except for the bright yellow glow of their eyes.

“I need a favor,” said Gabe.

“Oh, hear that, Nate?” said the taller of the two. “He needs a favor.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and stepped toward Gabe. “And what might that be, broker?”

“I need you to get me and Pete and our friend Patrick into Hell.”

The demon raised his eyebrows. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that kid, would it?”

Gabe’s heart jumped into his throat. Alex threw a glance at his partner. “What d’you think?”

Nate smirked. “Kid’s sure scared. Like a little bunny. Won’t hardly talk, but when he does, I keep hearing him mention a Gabe…”

“Don’t worry about the kid, alright?” Gabe snapped. “Are you going to do your job or not?”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Alex, his voice languid. “If the Source found out we were helping the rebellion, she’d skin us alive. What makes you think we’re even going to consider doing this?”

“Job security,” Gabe said. “If humanity gets destroyed, who’s gonna be left for you two to swindle out of their souls?”

Nate and Alex exchanged a glance.

“Victoria isn’t doing this for the greater good,” Gabe said. “She’s doing this for herself. And she doesn’t care who she has to step on to do it.”

“You make a good point,” Alex said. “But what’s in it for us?”

Gabe shrugged. “I am.”

“You?” Alex laughed. “You don’t have anything left to offer.”

“I’ve got my powers,” Gabe said. “Think about it. Pete doesn’t want anything to do with Hell anymore. If you two help us take down the Source, you’re first in line. And I’d work for you and you only. Do you have any idea what kind of money I can make on a deal nowadays?”

“Well, this all _sounds_ wonderful. But you know how it works. If we’re going to do this right, we’ve gotta have some terms.”

Gabe took a deep breath. “If you help me do this,” he said, “you can have me for the rest of my immortal life.”

Alex grinned. “I like the sound of that. Nate?”

Nate nodded. “Let’s seal it.”

Gabe, his heart pounding, hardly noticed what he was doing as he pressed his lips to Alex’s and then Nate’s. He stepped back and pulled out another cigarette.

“Well, then,” Alex said. “It looks like we have a deal.”

Gabe flicked his lighter open and held the flame to the end of his cigarette. “Looks like we do.”

 

 

*

Hell looked different to everyone, or at least everyone who had a little bit of a human soul. Pete claimed that when he'd arrived as a human, around the year 1014 or so, it looked something like the catacombs of Paris. Patrick didn't talk about it much, but Pete'd told Gabe once that Patrick saw the remnants of a war-torn village. Gabe's perception of Hell had been slowly evolving over the years as he drifted further and further away from humanity; he was now able to shake off the hallucinations and experience something akin to what most demons did, which was a cavernous dark cave lit dimly by sourceless firelight, distant screams and howls echoing from the stone. After all these years, the place still gave him an overwhelming, deep-seated terror, a sense of dread like writhing snakes in his stomach. It was nauseating. He dreaded to think how William must feel.

"Okay," Alex murmured. "The Source should be wrapped up in the ritual - I figure we've got a few minutes before anyone realizes anything's wrong. I'll scout ahead and make sure everything's okay. Nate can stay with you guys. Pete, I hope your powers aren't too rusty."

Pete cracked a wry smile. "Never in a thousand years."

Alex nodded. "Good luck," he whispered, and then disappeared.

Everything fell silent, eerily so—no crackling flames, no screams of pain, no howls of hellhounds—and Pete reached for Patrick's hand. Gabe wrapped his arms around himself and thought of William, alive.

"Alex is ready," Nate said suddenly, and they all snapped to attention. Without a word, they turned to the cavernous hall on their right, the twisting sepulcher of rock that William, heart beating, lungs filling, divine blood pumping, lay at the end of.

As he was rounding the corner, an errant hallucination caught Gabe’s eyes, a remnant of humanity – a hunched figure that lay in silhouette against the far wall. He forced himself not to notice the figure’s black curls, nor the high heels on its feet, nor the way it was shivering despite the stifling heat.

 _Don't look. Don't listen._ The figure's head was bowed, and it murmured something rapid and unintelligible. Gabe's eyes fell on the Magen David hanging around the figure’s neck, and he tore himself away before he could look any further.

He had enough to think about.

He pictured William – sweet, naive, smart-mouthed, goodhearted William. He pictured his favorite parts of the precious little time they'd spent together. William, blushing whenever Gabe said something particularly audacious. William, singing along to some awful one-hit wonder on the radio. William, eating terrible fast food and asking Gabe questions like they were at a sleepover. Getting drunk and giggling at Pete's stories and leaning on Gabe's shoulder. Looking at Gabe with innocent and understanding eyes when Gabe finally told him the truth.

_Beckett-boy, you'll make it out of this alive or I'll be damned._


	7. Hell or High Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me for so long, kids. Here's the last two chapters at the same time to make up for all that waiting. Hope you loved it.
> 
> You can find me at twinberry.tumblr.com.

_ “l’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle“ _  
_-[Paradiso, XXXIII, 145]_

 

VII. HELL OR HIGH WATER

The chamber was huge, yawning up toward a black nothingness. Orange firelight danced on the walls, casting alternating light and shadow on the massive sigil that had been chiseled into the stone floor. Inside, Gabe could just make out a terrified William, Ryland holding his arms tightly behind his back. In Ryland's other hand was a gleaming silver knife.

"They're almost finished," Nate said in a low voice. "We have to move fast."

"You okay, Gabe?" Pete asked quietly. "Can you see?"

"I can see."

"Good," Nate said. "You remember what to do?"

Gabe felt a dull throb in his chest, and he gritted his teeth and nodded. "Yes."

"Okay. Stay in the shadows. I'll go in."

Nate swallowed and stood up straight, breathed in, breathed out, then, feigning a look of distress, stumbled into the chamber.

"Source!" he said, and Gabe saw her turn, incensed by his boldness.

Nate dropped to his knees and bowed his head. "Forgive me, your grace—the traitors—"

The Source shot out a hand, and Nate's voice was cut off as he let out a surprised choking sound.

"The traitors," she said, "are welcome to watch."

She spun around and locked eyes with Gabe before he could blink.

“Cut his throat!” she snarled, just as Gabe yelled, “Pete, now!”

Ryland brought the knife down; there was a flash of silver, and then he was flying at the wall as Pete strode into the room, arm outstretched, eyes blazing like fire against the shadows on his face.

Gabe broke into a run, dove forward, and wrapped his arms around William, the added weight making him lose his balance and collapse on the stone floor. He looked down at William, ignoring the ache in his knees. He was breathing in shallow gasps, his eyes wide with terror, his throat stained crimson.

Gabe turned sharply, too late, his stomach dropping as his gaze landed on the few drops of blood that had made it onto the sigil. Pete lowered his arm, staring at the blood, the glow fading from his eyes. Patrick still stood near the entrance, frozen.

Ryland slowly pushed himself into a standing position again while a triumphant smile crept across the Source’s face.

“Peter,” she said. “What a picture of denial, as it were.”

Pete spat at her feet. She ignored him and addressed Patrick.

“You–I thought we killed you.” She turned to Gabe, who reflexively tightened his grip on William.

“And as for you,” she said, her voice becoming low and sadistic, “I can’t wait to spend the next few centuries with you.”

William coughed, and a fresh stream of blood began to drip from the cut on his neck. Gabe pressed his hand over the wound and held William close, breathing in the smell of Pete's shampoo and William's laundry detergent - the million little human things that still lay buried under the layer of sweat and blood and fear - for what he thought might be the last time.

He squeezed William’s left hand with his right, then slowly, once again, inched his hand toward his side.

The sigil was beginning to glow a deep crimson. The Source walked around it slowly, surveying it, eyes glistening.

"You know, I have to admire your tenacity," she said. She flicked her wrist, as casual a gesture as she could, and Gabe felt his chest twinge sharply again. He coughed, and dark blood splattered onto the floor. The Source smiled. "You damned yourself just for one fragile human, even though you must have known you couldn't stop it. Love does make fools of us all."

William took in a shuddering breath, and as Gabe wrapped his fingers around the handle of his knife, he did something he hadn't done in a long time: he prayed.

“We knew we could stop it,” he managed. “We just had to come down here to bring the last two ingredients together.”

Before Victoria could respond, Gabe raised his left hand, the hand covered in William’s blood, and drew his knife.

“Blood of a Nephilim–” Gabe sliced his shirt open with his knife and pressed his palm to the sigil he'd carved into his chest. “–Blood of an immortal!”

There was a flash of light like an atom bomb, a flash that would surely have blinded Gabe had he not instinctively shut his eyes. An unholy sound ripped from the throat of the Source and rang against the silence that followed.

When it was over, Gabe heard nothing but a ringing in his ears and the sound of Hellhounds howling in the distance.  
Victoria was gone. Ryland lay out on the stone, unmoving, lines of deep scarlet tracing from his eyes and ears. Alex, who was hunched over an unconscious Nate near the far wall, tentatively looked up, wiping blood from underneath his nose and looking dazed.

“Pete?” called Gabe, his voice cracking.

“Here,” came a hoarse voice, and Pete shakily stood up. His ears were stained a little red, but otherwise he looked none the worse for wear.

“I’m okay,” he said. “But I think if I’d had any less humanity I would have been fucked.”

William shifted in Gabe’s arms, and Gabe looked down, dread twisting his stomach again. “Oh, fuck. Patrick–”

“On it,” came Patrick’s voice from behind him, and Gabe shifted to make room for Patrick’s steady hands, unwilling to let William go quite yet.

As Patrick swept his hands over the wound on William’s neck, muttering to himself, William blinked hazily. “Did it work?” he asked, his voice faint.

“It sure as fuck did,” Gabe said, the reality of that sentence hitting him full force. He looked up at Patrick, who was giving William another once-over.

“Holy shit,” he said. “I’m mortal.”

“You’re bleeding,” Patrick said matter-of-factly, holding his hand out, apparently satisfied with the work he’d done on William. “That actually matters now.”

Gabe looked down at his chest, which he’d all but forgotten about. It was stinging vaguely. “Weird,” he muttered as he tugged his shirt open further and let Patrick press a hand to the sigil until the lines had faded almost completely, raised only slightly against Gabe’s chest.

"You're probably going to have a scar," he said. "William will too."

"Considering the alternative, I don't think I've ever been more okay with that," Gabe said.

William was still looking pale. Gabe nudged him gently. “Hey, Bill? You okay?”

William mumbled something.

“What?” Gabe asked.

William coughed. “You got blood,” he said weakly. “All over my Wilco shirt.”

Gabe laughed in relief and hugged him.

William pulled back, and Gabe looked at him in surprise. William looked back, his eyes half-shut, the gaze of something ancient and wise and powerful, something not quite of this earth. He reached up with his left hand and ran his thumb along Gabe's cheek. Then he pulled him forward and pressed his lips to Gabe's.

Gabe didn't resist this time, just melted into it, just fucking let go for the first time in twenty-five years.

Twenty-five _years_. He smiled into William's kiss, just barely stopping himself from laughing; it had taken twenty-five goddamn years, a quarter of a goddamn century, but it had all led up to this. Every day without food, every bloody nose, every broken bone, all those years of pain and death and heartbreak - every single moment had brought him here.

And if that was what it took—then, well, shit. Who was he to complain?

After they broke apart, foreheads laid against each other, Gabe murmured, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," William said, and kissed him again.

Alex cleared his throat from the corner. "Hate to interrupt, Gabe, but we filled our part of the bargain. You're going to have to fill yours."

Gabe broke apart from William but kept his eyes fixed on him. "I already did."

"I seem to recall you saying that if we helped you, you'd belong to us for the rest of your life."

Gabe sat back on his heels and looked up at Alex. "I said the rest of my immortal life," he said. "You had me until we took down the Source. That was the rest of my immortal life. She held the contract. I'm mortal again."

Alex, a fiery look in his yellow eyes, began to step forward, but Pete threw out a hand and stopped him in his tracks. "I wouldn't try anything," he said idly, watching as a few tongues of flame flickered at his fingertips. "I may be a thousand years old, but I could still kick your ass into the middle of the next century."

Alex scowled, and a fresh stream of blood began to ooze from his nose. He put a hand up to stop it. "Good luck getting out of Hell, then," he snarled. "Cause I'm sure as shit not going to help you."

Gabe shrugged. "Don't need to. Took the power from Nate when I kissed him."

There was a moment of stunned silence, a moment when Gabe was half convinced Alex might actually kill him. Then Pete snorted and broke into laughter, doubling over. "Christ, Saporta." He grinned and wiped his eyes. "Shit. I'm really gonna miss you."

Gabe grinned, bemused. "What are you talking about?"

"You have a life to live, bro.” Patrick stood and moved next to him, and Pete took his hand, kissing it lightly before addressing Gabe again. "Me and Patrick, we're as good as checked out. The rest of the world stopped mattering to us a good few decades ago. But you— Gabe, you've got a whole life ahead of you."

Gabe looked down at the boy in his arms, the last of the Nephilim, the college kid whose shitty loft he'd stepped into a week ago. William smiled up at him. All that was left of the cut on his throat was a barely visible line, already the pinkish-white of a scar long since healed.

"Yeah," Gabe said. "I guess I do."


	8. The Sun and Other Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me for so long, kids. Here's the last two chapters at the same time to make up for all that waiting. Hope you loved it.
> 
> You can find me at twinberry.tumblr.com.

_in all the aeons we have lost nothing, we have gained nothing - not a speck, not a grain, not a breath. the universe is simply a sealed, twisting kaleidoscope that has reordered itself a trillion trillion trillion times over._   
_finding a person you love is like galaxies colliding. we are all peculiar, unrepeatable, perambulating micro-universes - we have never been before and we will never be again. oh god, the sheer exuberant, unlikely fact of our existences. the honour of being alive. they will never be able to make you again._   
_don’t you dare waste a second of it thinking something better will happen when it ends. don’t you dare._

_ -caitlin moran _

 

VIII. THE SUN AND OTHER STARS

They’ve given up trying to sleep upstairs. The guest room is right across from Pete’s bedroom, and Pete and Patrick, after all, have nearly a hundred years of mutual pining to make up for. Gabe and William are trying to stay out of their way as best they can.

They’d gone to the Getty earlier that day, just to take their minds off things, and because there was an exhibition of rococo sketches Gabe knew William would love. Gabe mostly looked at William instead of the art, studied the way his face lit up as he took in each piece, eyes wide with fascination, and decided that he was maybe kind of starting to remember how cool this whole human thing is.

The grandfather clock is ticking slowly past ten, its steady rhythm keeping time with their heartbeats. They’ve been curled up on the couch since they got back, watching Friends reruns while Gabe plays absently with William’s hair.

They’ve kissed a few times since yesterday, and every time it makes Gabe’s head spin.

Yeah, being mortal again rocks.

The episode cuts to commercial, and Gabe figures he better ask the dreaded question.

"So when do you want to go back to Chicago?"

"Not until I'm ready," William says easily. "Sisky's flipping about four shits, of course, but he's my best friend. He won't tell my parents no matter how pissed he is." William lets out a soft sigh and stares up at the ceiling. "So hopefully a few failed classes will be all I'll have to deal with when I go back to my life."

"And the knowledge of supreme evil."

"That too, I guess."

Neither of them speak for a moment; the sound of an iTunes commercial fills the silence.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Gabe asks.

William doesn't answer, and Gabe's heart speeds up. "I mean, I totally don't have to," he says. "You've only known me for like a week, and I realize I'm not the easiest person to deal with, either. And you've been through Hell and back, literally, if anyone deserves a break—"

"I've been thinking about this a lot," William says, and Gabe shuts his mouth. "It's like... I'm never gonna forget what happened to me, y'know? I'm never gonna be able to go back to my old life. So if that's the way it's gonna be, I'd rather have someone who understands with me." He clears his throat. "Someone I can trust."

"You sure?" Gabe says. "You barely even know me."

"I know enough," William says. "Like how I never stutter in front of you. And I know your favorite band and your mom's name and what Hogwarts house you're in." He settles his head further into Gabe's chest. "And I know you went through Hell for me." He smiles up at him. "Literally."

 _I'd do it again, y'know,_ Gabe thinks, and then he tells himself to say it, and is surprised when he actually does.  
William looks slightly taken aback for a moment. Then he reaches for Gabe's hand.

"You know what else I know?" he says.

"What?"

William takes a deep breath, like he's been psyching himself up for this point in the conversation.

"I know I love you," he says, and his voice is bright and clear as a bell.

Gabe's stupid mortal heart swells and pounds, hardly able to take it.

"I love you too," he murmurs, and it feels like a triumph.

He hears footsteps on the stairs, and he glances up to see Pete, hair hopelessly messy, wearing Patrick's old Bowie shirt. Pete grins at him and walks over, hooking his arms over the back of the couch. "Hey, y'all," he says. "How are you two holding up?"

William gives him a thumbs up. Gabe grins. "We're hanging in there."

"Man, I still can't believe you hosed a crossroads demon," Pete says. "Saporta, you are a piece of work."

"I've been told."

"Anyway. I'm gonna go grab some water. You guys want anything?"

"I have a feeling you need the fluids a lot more than we do."

"Get fucked."

"I'd love to, but you seem busy."

Pete just turns his back and heads toward the kitchen, flipping the bird in Gabe's direction. Gabe waits until he's all the way upstairs before speaking again.

"So," he says. "I guess you're stuck with me."

William closes his eyes and sighs contentedly. "In for a penny, in for a pound."


End file.
